


Opaque

by imperfectkreis



Series: Degrees of Transparency [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Childhood Friends, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gender Issues, Genderplay, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the explicit epilogue to my series Translucent. It can function as a stand-alone smut fic as well. Cyprian Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, like Kieran, was born post-blight in 9:31 Dragon. This story takes place in 9:49 Dragon. It is neither underage nor age-difference. Translucent would provide additional context, but I know some people are just here for porn.</p><p>This now actually has a plot, and goes well beyond an epilogue into a new story. I couldn't help myself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is nothing more than a gentle weight at the side of the bed that wakes Cyprian Trevelyan. The soft depression of someone not-quite crawling in beside him, as if his assailant is waiting for permission. Cyprian's first reaction is one of panic. These are his private quarters at Skyhold. While he does not latch the doors that lead to his room, he also does not expect visitors. Well, sometimes Josie barges in, but she is never subtle, always making enough noise that he may prepare himself, tossing on a robe over his bare shoulders and rubbing the sleep from his face.

Cyprian's amber eyes fly open, but he cannot will his head to turn, to face his attacker. In his right hand, he prepares an attack. Simple force that will launch the interloper across the room in an instant, against the wall. But whoever this is does nothing.

"Cyprian?"

It is a voice he almost recognizes. Something through the cloud of years and past the transformation from child into adult tugs at his memory. He knew this man once, when they were both boys. That voice gives him the courage to turn, to face gold and green eyes that glow faintly, even in the darkness. Predator.

He nearly cries right then, "Kieran!"

Sitting up, he throws his arms around Kieran's neck, the years they lost melt in the embrace. They stick between them like sweet syrup. He's happy, so happy that Kieran is here, that he is alright. When Kieran left with his mother, almost five years prior in the depths of winter, Cyprian had been devastated. Maker, they were only thirteen then.

"You recognize me?" Kieran seems proud of himself. He keeps his arms on Cyprian's shoulders, his thumb worrying over the bare clavicle. 

"I'd never forget you, Kieran. Never." Cyprian reaches without asking, taking a bit of Kieran's silky black hair between his fingers. It's so soft, smooth too. Their hair has the same color, but Cyprian's falls in soft curls that Vivienne still thinks are too long. She thinks it would suit his features better were it short.

Kieran smiles first, then laughs a little. Looking away, he appraises the room as if he has not seen the inside dozens of times before. They used to sit on the stone floor and play games with their magic that the others would have forbidden. Cyprian would make fire in his palms and Kieran would put it out with cold. They'd escalate and escalate until they heard Cassandra's heavy boots thudding against the floor, or Morrigan's quicker steps in fine-heeled boots. Their mothers would pretend not to notice what they were doing, though the scent of their spells would linger in the fabric of their clothes.

"So," Kieran starts, "you're Inquisitor now?"

Cyprian nods, "since I turned fourteen. Since Cassandra left." He does not wish to speak on that particular pain in his chest, the one that used to be filled by the woman now named Divine Victoria I. That she loved him, Cyprian is certain. But she would always love Thedas more. "Why are you here, Kieran?"

Cyprian rubs his bare feet against the sheets. His hands still clutch at Kieran's skin, like he could run through his hands, as swiftly as grains of rice, coarse and unforgiving, if he were to let go. He does not blame Kieran for leaving. They were only boys then, bound to the wills and desires of the adults around them. But that does not mean Cyprian did not ache for his friend.

"Tis your birthday, isn't it," he touches two fingers to Cyprian's cheek. "I remembered correctly, didn't I?"

"I've had many birthdays since. You never came."

"No, I-" Kieran stops short. Instead of speaking, he dances his fingers across Cyprian's face, cataloging the changes the years have rendered.

"Yeah, it's my birthday." Cyprian feels compelled to fill up the silence. "We haven't celebrated in a long time though. It seems childish, doesn't it? Oh, but Kieran, you never celebrated either, did you? Except for that year you were at Skyhold, remember? When you turned thirteen. I remember, we didn't do much of anything when you turned twelve because I was away at the Western Approach. But when you turned thirteen Sera helped me bake a cake and it was terrible so Josie had the cooks make a new one. But you ate from my terrible cake first."

Kieran doesn't speak a word, but keeps touching the exposed pieces of Cyprian's skin. There is much ground to cover.

Cyprian does not expect his body to respond as it does. Not to the way Kieran runs his fingers over his face, down his neck. He has been taught to stamp down such reactions as much as possible. To keep a schedule of his desires. His minders were so afraid of the power of the Anchor that they taught him to be practical, safe. Passion, even when he is alone, is not permitted. 

He keeps talking, trying to forget touches on his sternum.

"And you smiled even though the cake tasted like dirt and felt like gravel in our mouths." 

He is not blind to the way Kieran's body has shifted closer. Through Kieran's threadbare tunic, he can feel his body heat in waves against his bare chest. Kieran's hand moves up again, away from Cyprian's chest and up into his loose curls. Only then does Cyprian notice he is still holding on to Kieran's arms like a vice.

"I've dreamed of you. Of who we grew up to be. I thought maybe they were visions, that maybe Grandmother did not take everything from me. The Old dreams left me, but you remained."

Cyprian fixates on the opening and closing of Kieran's mouth as he speaks. His lips are so dark, surrounded by pale skin. He takes one hand away from Kieran's arm and instead presses the pad of his finger to his flushed lip. It doesn't seem strange, to either of them. The touch is so feather light it does not impede Kieran's words.

"But now I know they were not visions. Seeing you now, tis more, tis better than any of those specters."

Cyprian feels Kieran's words in the pit of his stomach. Did they know, even back then, that they would be tied like this? A tangle of friendship, loneliness, desperation, and lust. They couldn't have. All Cyprian knew then was he never wanted to be parted from Kieran. But to cry over his loss would make Cyprian a baby, and at thirteen the only thing he wanted more than Kieran was to be grown.

Now, like this, he could have both.

"They didn't let me dream." Cyprian doesn't know quite how to explain. "There was talk of making me tranquil. They were so scared. Cassandra had left, I was fourteen, and they thought...I would tear open the world with my anger and desire. I had walked in the Fade at eleven and they still thought I would fall prey to demons."

Kieran's breath hitches, falling against Cyprian's fingers. It's so warm. It's perfect.

"They didn't, though."

Cyprian shakes his head. "Vivienne saved me. She argued that the smashing of crates and setting Cullen's loft on fire were offences, indeed. But to be expected from any mage-child who came into his powers 'too young.' That I only needed time and practice. So, instead of making me empty by force, they did so by training." He doesn't elaborate on the mechanization of his bodily functions. How he was taught not to dream. How he would empty his mind completely when touching himself, on schedule, every other day until he ejaculated without pleasure. 

Kieran looks quite sad. But Cyprian supposes he always does. It is simply the way his fine features fall.

"My mother is gone. That is why I have come for this birthday. And not the others."

"Oh, Kieran," Cyprian pulls his friend close, forgetting in that moment their tenuous arousal. He kisses the side of Kieran's face, not knowing what else to do.

"She would not want me to be here. She thought the Inquisition, drawn out past the defeat of Corypheus, was folly." His arms wrap around Cyprian's shoulders, hands coming to rest against his back. From the way Kieran tucks his head against Cyprian's neck, Cyprian drowns in the smell of his hair. Like the woods, rain, ash.

"She did not like me."

"She did not like the Inquisition."

They are quiet for a long time. Cyprian realizes that Kieran has fallen asleep. Oh. He has no idea how Kieran even made it to Skyhold, made it to his bed. But now his eyes are closed, dark lashes pressed down on pale cheeks.

It would be presumptuous to undress him, so Cyprian merely rearranges Kieran to lie down in bed, muddy boots and all. The sheets can be washed. He does not wake from the manipulations. With ease, Cyprian falls to sleep beside him. Like they have done this before.

He wakes in the early moments of sunrise, the sky the color of black tea. It will storm today.

Kieran's eyes are wide open, appraising. "I did not mean to fall asleep."

Cyprian pushes the hair away from Kieran's forehead. "Kieran," he knows what he wants to say. And he wants it to be concise, though he rarely is. "Can I kiss you, Kieran?"

"Yes," it sounds more like 'please.'

Cyprian closes the space between them, touching his lips to Kieran's. He can feel the way Kieran's chest swells with excitement, the press of fingers against his arm as Kieran reaches for him. "Have you done this before?" He asks, pulling away. Just an inch, though, not too much,

"Kissed?" Kieran asks.

Cyprian nods.

"No, but I have done other things."

But he does not wish to know of the other things Kieran has done, because he has not done them with Cyprian. He rolls atop Kieran's prone body, slotting his legs between Kieran's. When he feels Kieran's thighs wrap around his hips Cyprian nearly loses his control altogether. 

Instead he kisses Kieran again, again, again. His lips, his neck, just above his lashes. Kieran silently smiles, letting him move as he pleases. Through Kieran's breeches, Cyprian can feel that he is hard. Maker, he wants him.

"Kieran," the hoarseness of his own voice surprises him. Like he has been screaming for hours instead of sleeping. "What did you see, when you dreamt of us?"

"Many things. I saw you in the Wilds, with me. We were free. As apostates once were." 

That word, "Apostate," even years later it sits strangely for Cyprian. He was then he wasn't, because he went to the Circle at age six. Then he was "Apostate" again, when his mother stole him from Kinloch. Wasn't "Apostate” later that year, because there were no more Circles. Then he was legitimized as free through the power of his rank. Divine Victoria gifted him such freedoms even as she reestablished the Circles. 

Kieran never lived in such confusion. Always Apostate. More than that, Cyprian can see in Kieran's every movement that he is a Witch of the Wilds. Like so many before him. At Skyhold he would have been flightless.

"What else?" He cannot help but play with the leather cords at the neck of Kieran's rough tunic. Really, he wants to rip it off. He just wants to destroy every shred of clothing Kieran's got on.

"About kissing you, holding you, everything."

Cyprian growls at the back of his throat. Having Kieran here in his bed dredges up everything long suppressed "for the safety of Thedas." He pulls at the hem of Kieran's tunic, grateful when his friend lifts his shoulders from the mattress so they may discard it.

Under his clothing Kieran is wiry, thin. Cyprian is thicker. Though he is a mage, he trains with an axe three times a week with Krem. He'll never use it in battle, but he likes the exercise. He likes retaining something Bull gave him. 

Cyprian runs his fingers down the plane of Kieran's chest, his fingers dipping down between ribs, the hollow of his hips. When Kieran jerks his hips up, Cyprian nearly comes just from the friction. He's got it in his head that this is going to be good. He's going to be so good to Kieran. The reality may prove quite different. But he is going to try until he gets it right.

"You're beautiful," Cyprian says.

Kieran shakes his head, 'no.'

"You are. And now I understand why they wouldn't let me dream. Maker. I would have torn apart Thedas for you. To find you, to take you."

"Maybe it is true. That you and I are the harbingers of the end."

"I've been called a savior too," Cyprian says absentmindedly. It's true, but it sounds conceited. "The boy with the soul of an Old God; the boy Marked by Andraste."

Kieran's lips set into a line. Cyprian kisses them open again. He's gone and talked too much. Pushing back down with his hips, he pins Kieran to the mattress. Kieran moans wordlessly into his open mouth. Cyprian wants to swallow him down, down, all the way down until the boundaries between them break. Until they are a single abomination of flesh and desire. He could lose himself like this. 

Kieran's hands run along his shoulders, his abdomen, down to their groins. As he works the laces to his breeches, Kieran's hips continue to beg. Cyprian feels very silly for having not thought to undress him, but his mind is very cloudy. So hazed he has forgotten about Kieran's boots as well.

He does help to undress Kieran down to his smalls. Now they stand on level footing. Every piece of Kieran he can see and touch is perfect. Perfect. Like they were made for this. He wants this to be destined because all Cyprian's other fates have come up wrong; this one seems right. 

Cyprian does not hesitate, slipping his hand into Kieran's smalls to tug at his cock. It's warm and full in his hand. He knows what to do, the mechanics of course. But he does not want this for the mechanics but for the blood pulsing through his brain, his heart, his cock. He tries to breathe in Kieran's pleasure too. He wants to drown.

Kieran's nails bite into the flesh of his arms leaving half-crescents behind. And quite acutely Cyprian wants to do more than touch him. He want to fuck Kieran. He wants to destroy him. Maker, Maker this is why they stopped him years ago. Before they even knew themselves.

"I want, I want," Cyprian pants. He has to use his words, "I want to be inside you. So bad. So, so bad." He laughs.

Kieran nods, "I want that too."

"Ah," Cyprian reaches for the bedside drawer. He doesn't want to lose contact with Kieran. Not for a second. But he has a vial of oil there he keeps for touching himself. Made things faster, more efficient. Less time spent vulnerable.

He has an idea of how this works. His education in sexual matters was sterile and awkward, but also thorough. How otherwise could they impart onto him the importance of the multitude of behaviors he was not permitted to think about? First and foremost on the list of disallowed things would have been taking Kieran to bed. 

In the fore of his mind he believes Kieran knows what to do too, but by other means. Cyprian wants to make him forget whoever it was. Whatever they did.

They shuck their smallclothes, tossing them aside. Having Kieran's cock against his thigh makes everything urgent. He wants to do everything all at once. But this one thing he wants in particular, the tight heat of Kieran's body around his. 

He coats his fingers with oil, letting too much out of the bottle and onto the sheets. Kieran splays his legs without being asked. As his first finger slides in, past cursory resistance, Cyprian has a single moment of pure panic. He should not have used the Anchored hand. His control is excellent. It has taken nine years, but he will not flare. Of that he is certain. Still, something feels sacrilegious about it.

"Cyprian," Kieran whines, "more."

It's not until he hears Kieran speak again that he realizes how quiet he has been. Hearing his assent makes it all the more important to do this well, to make Kieran writhe and lose control. Cyprian has to hold on, but Kieran can let go.

He scissors Kieran open. He hopes it is enough because he's about to come at first touch just from watching Kieran's eyes flutter open, then close. The sharp, short rise and fall of his chest as he tries to catch his breath is more tempting than it should be.

"I'm going to do it now, okay? Okay?" He pulls his fingers away, slicking his cock instead. He has to use one hand to guide it to Kieran, the other he uses to brush the hair from his sweaty forehead.

As he slides in, Cyprian listens to the changing pitch of Kieran's pleasure. It goes from deep and full to spent so quickly. His hand squeezes at his cock. He's trying not to come. Cyprian's trying not to either but they spent so much time getting here. And he doesn't even know what this is. If this is sort of forever, or even could be. He does know that he would smash open the head of anyone who would dare look at Kieran in such a state. Make it burst. This is for him, for them. Only.

It takes no more than a few sharp thrusts of his hips and Cyprian is coming, spilling into Kieran who twitches around his cock. Kieran's breath is at the shell of his ear. "So long, too long." Cyprian is quickly softening, but he thrusts again, again, and feels Kieran come between their bodies. It sticks between them. The sound in Kieran's mouth is Cyprian's name.

They have to pull apart, though neither of them truly want it. Kieran's eyes are still blown wide. Cyprian assumes he looks the same. He presses one hand to his own forehead. It is hot. 

Now he is simply tired, hungry. The lull of his momentary satiation is unlike anything he's achieved by himself. At the same time he feels pangs in his abdomen wanting more. He is a bottomless pit of more.

"Are you hungry?" Cyprian asks, "I can ring for food. And a change of sheets. These ones are soiled. I didn't know, when you fell asleep. I didn't want to presume. To take your clothes off, I mean." Silly thing to say, now that he has Kieran naked before him, covered in sweat and cum and mud from his clothes that transferred to the sheets as they slept, then fucked.

Kieran pulls the dirtied sheets around himself. "There is no need. I should not cause you trouble."

Cyprian has already pulled the cord to summon a servant. "Well I'm starving, and you look like it too."

Kieran simply stares at the blank wall when the servant comes to the door. Cyprian has forgotten his nakedness. He stumbles a little, but asks for simple things to be brought from the kitchen. And wine! Since he is now of age. He almost forgets about the sheets. 

"Now everyone will know you have taken me to bed." Kieran pats his fingers against kiss-swollen lips.

"And?" Cyprian dismisses the thought. "I am Inquisitor. No one will question it."

"Your father will. When he discovers it is me." His raptor's eyes do not deviate from the wall.

Cyprian scowls. "I don't, I don't think of him like that. He is not my father. He is my advisor. He advises me. He does not parent me."

"You think my mother did not like you. But we know he hated me."

"He hates all mages. He tries to say it is not so, but he can't forget." 

Kieran shrugs his shoulders. 

"No one will part us. Not again." Cyprian sits at the side of the bed. He touches Kieran's cheek. The coolness of his skin douses the fire inside of Cyprian. 

This is his first taken oath as a man. He does not intend to break it, though he must also learn how to keep it.


	2. Chapter 2

The wine arrives, along with bread, cheese, and leftover pastries. Cyprian already thinks he should have asked for more drink. He downs one glass right away, shaking away the aftertaste. Maybe he should have asked for ale instead. 

He sets the tray down on the bed. Kieran pulls his feet to his chest to make room. Cyprian cannot help but lean forward, kiss his friend one more time on his lips before reaching for a pastry. He does not sit to eat, choosing instead to pace the floor, sip his wine, and take bites of food. Each time he looks at Kieran he's filled with such joy he could burst, the way his presence trembles in Cyprian's lungs like a storm. There are dozens of questions on his tongue but none of them taste quite right.

Twice he has to encourage Kieran to eat more. If Cyprian has things his way, he'll spend the rest of their lives trying to fatten Kieran up. He'll want for nothing, have everything Cyprian can provide for him. Cyprian is dizzy already. Maybe it's the wine.

When the food is gobbled up, Cyprian tosses the tray to the ground, not caring how loudly it clatters. He crawls into bed, slotting between Kieran's legs. He tastes the wine on Kieran's tongue. Kieran did not drink as much as he.

"Please, please," Cyprian litters his kisses down the column of Kieran's throat. "Let me have you again."

Kieran pushes back with as much force, whimpering as he does. He crawls into Cyprian's lap, reversing their heights so he sits taller. Cyprian's cock is already hard again. It's so easy, so right. His erection sits against Kieran's back as the other man grinds down on him.

"Let me have you, let me have you." His nails rake over Kieran's back, sure to leave red welts on pale skin. The slip of friction between them isn't enough. Not nearly enough. Cyprian cries in frustration. He wants to chase the sensation he held in his hands earlier. "Please, Kieran."

He has to know this is alright. He has to know Kieran is good.

"Yes," Kieran breathes, "yes."

With that, Cyprian knocks Kieran onto his back. He's still open and slick from earlier, the oil mixed with Cyprian's cum. The thought of it drives him, flares something possessive in his stomach. Cyprian buries his face next to Kieran's neck when he plunges into him. Kieran's body twitches around his cock. Without thinking, he is biting down on Kieran's neck until he gasps. Between their bodies Kieran works his cock in his hand. Cyprian's whole world narrows to this. The taste of salt on Kieran's skin, the slip of his hair against his face. Maker, Maker don't let this end.

Kieran spends himself. Lifting his weight up, Cyprian watches his face as it happens. His mouth gapes just slightly as the sigh escapes. Seeing Kieran undone takes Cyprian to the edge as well, emptying in rapid bursts.

They lie together until their breath evens. They have to change the sheets. Cyprian is very bad at making the bed. The corners are messy. It seems cruel to make a servant come.

Oh. Shit. The servants. 

From the position of the sun in the sky, there must be hours left before Cyprian must meet with his advisors. He checks the timepiece on his desk. Yes, two hours. They will all know he has had a guest, if they do not already. It cannot be helped.

Cyprian slides back into bed, bundling a drowsy Kieran into his arms. He's much shorter, maybe five inches, and his shoulders are narrow, his frame smaller. Cyprian presses his nose into Kieran's hair.

"Did you want to do me? I guess I should have asked. Was I being selfish? I just wanted you so bad."

Kieran laughs quietly against his chest. "Maybe later, I'm still a bit tired." His hand comes up to play with Cyprian's curls. 

Cyprian must admit, he likes how his friend's paler body looks wrapped in his arms. He likes the way he looks with his hips nestled between Kieran's thighs. He likes everything about this.

"But yeah, is that something you want?"

Kieran's eyes are already shut, but he mumbles his response. "If you'd like. I hadn't really thought of it."

"So," Kieran cannot let this go, not yet. "You only ever thought of me inside you, not the reverse."

Against his arm Cyprian can feel the flush on Kieran's cheek. "I thought of us doing other things too. But, no, I suppose I did not think of my cock in you."

"Do you think that's weird? I mean, do you think it's weird that you didn't think about it? I didn't think about any of this but I just started moving and it was like I knew."

"Cyprian?"

"Mm, yeah, Kieran?" His hands start wandering again.

"Be quiet."

\--

They wake again thirty minutes before Cyprian's meeting. He yawns, stretches, looks at Kieran with his tousled hair. He should wash and change, but instead he kisses Kieran awake. They touch and touch until they are both hard. Kieran strokes him in his hand until he comes. Cyprian slides beneath the covers, takes Kieran into his mouth. 

Kieran moans his name, hands coming to grip in his long hair. He tugs at it as Cyprian works. When his teeth scrape by accident, Kieran hisses in displeasure, going somewhat soft. Cyprian mumbles apologies against his thigh and resolves to do better. Once Kieran is hard again, it does not take long. Cyprian is messy and enthusiastic. Bitter on his tongue, Cyprian swallows Kieran down.

By the time they are finished, Cyprian is already late. Josie is knocking at his door.

"Inquisitor? Cyprian?" She turns the handle.

Cyprian pulls the sheet around their waists before throwing an arm over Kieran's shoulders. Josephine probably already knows Kieran is here. If not that detail, at least that there was a man in Cyprian's bed last night.

"Yeah, Josie, sorry. Um, we just need a minute."

She stops with the door halfway open. "Vivienne will be attending the advisors meeting today."

That makes Cyprian's stomach drop. He had hoped to take this whole business in stride. He is an adult now and, as such, his private matters should be his own. But Vivienne's presence undoubtedly means some sort of lecture about how dangerous Cyprian is. Well, nothing terrible has happened yet, and he has had Kieran three times. He'll shove that in their faces.

Josie closes the door after that.

"Come with me, to the meeting. They, they are going to lecture me. About this," he twines his fingers between Kieran's. "I want you to be there."

"They will think it inappropriate," Kieran counters.

"Good."

They manage to keep their hands off of each other while they wash. Kieran has no fresh clothes, so he wears Cyprian's, though they are too large. He rolls up the pant legs so they will not drag.

Cyprian keeps their hands clasped together as they head for the War Room. He rubs his thumb over the back of Kieran's hand.

"We'll have clothes made in your size. Did you bring a staff? I did not see it. You'll need robes too. I want you to travel with us. Yeah?"

Kieran squeezes his hand and smiles. "Yes."

Around the table waits Spymaster Harding, Josephine, Cullen, and Vivienne. They have varying degrees of confusion and anger written across their faces. Fair enough, he is nearly an hour late to the scheduled meeting, and his behavior has necessitated a change in itinerary.

Josie notices first, her hand coming in front of her mouth. "Kieran?"

Kieran's hand tenses around Cyprian's

Cullen's eyes narrow. "No, no. Absolutely not!" He looks ready to break Cyprian in two.

Vivienne reaches forward, grabbing Cullen by the wrist in an attempt to calm him. "I agree, this is not ideal. But brash displays of impotent force will get us nowhere."

"This is unacceptable. He wishes to take a lover? Fine. We cannot stop him now. But no. Not him."

"We're standing right here, Commander." Cyprian says through gritted teeth.

"I can very well see that," Cullen turns away, pressing his hand to his forehead.

Vivienne tries to soothe where Cullen has only been rash. "What he is saying, darling, is your selection in bedmates is troublesome. From a number of perspectives."

Cyprian tries to remember when Kieran went away. He realizes he can't remember. That in itself is a realization. "You knew this would happen. You're the ones who sent Kieran away before." Rage bubbles in his veins. He saved them from Coryphaeus. He saved all of them, everyone. The whole fucking world. And while his body lay in wrecked pieces in his sickbed, these are the people who sent his one friend away. "Why? What's so terrible about my being happy?"

"Cyprian," Kieran's voice is quiet, but sure. "My mother agreed to it as well. Our separation. She wouldn't tell me why."

"Why then?" Cyprian roars. "Why?"

Vivienne sighs. "Because results were unknown. And the unknown is a dangerous weapon."

"Well, we know now, right? I mean, we fucked like, three times already. And there are no new holes in the sky. The world isn't breaking apart, is it? I didn't instantly turn into a desire demon? So what the fuck could happen?"

"You and Kieran," Josie tries to explain, "are not normal boys."

"So? Who the fuck cares? Just because we're not 'normal?' What gives you the right?" Cyprian is inconsolable. 

"We'll get no further this morning," Harding's voice stays light, cheerful even. She ushers Cyprian and Kieran out while Cullen scowls. Well, fuck him.

They make their way back to Cyprian's chambers, they're barely through the door before Kieran is on him again, kissing at his throat, running his fingers along his arms. They grind their hips together until they're both drunk on laughter, Cyprian's anger is gone.

He takes Kieran's face between his hands, kisses him with long, slow desperation. Whispers for the first time that he loves him. Loves him. He should have said it sooner, but it feels so much more alive in the light of day. Cyprian loves Kieran. He has no doubts.

Kieran blushes brightly, kisses Cyprian's throat, just at the bob of his Adam's apple. Then he says it too.

"I love you, Cyprian."

They make love on the floor. Afterwards Kieran's back is scraped raw. He claims not to have noticed in the heat of the moment. Cyprian can't use healing magic, they'll need a medic. Kieran laughs, he's done much worse to himself in the past. He'll be fine. Cyprian's knees are bruised too.

\--

Cullen thinks it entirely inappropriate that Kieran accompany the Inquisition to Halamshiral. He is overruled.

"There are those in the court who remember him, and his mother, quite distinctly. Some fondly, others not so much. We may use his presence to our advantage," Josephine argues. "I can see no reason to leave him behind."

"Have you all forgotten our decision to keep them apart?" Cullen interjects.

"Have you forgotten we're right here?" Cyprian is annoyed.

They sit in the War Room, not around the giant board, but a smaller table meant for discussion. Instead of using a provided chair, Kieran sits half in Cyprian's lap, half on the armrest of the Inquisitor's chair. Since Kieran's return to Skyhold, he and Cyprian have been nearly inseparable. This fact troubles Cullen profoundly. It is half the reason Cyprian is so demonstrative in his affections.

"Have some semblance of manners. Kieran, sit in your own chair," Cullen urges.

Cyprian tightens his grip about Kieran's waist, holding him in place. Kieran's hand covers Cyprian's, acknowledging he won't leave.

"Then it's decided," Cyprian says cheerfully. "Send the tailor around when he's ready for us."

The council stands to leave, exclusive of Cullen. 

"Cyprian, wait. I have something to discuss with you."

Cyprian does not release Kieran's hand.

"Without the Witch," Cullen insists.

Kieran squeezes his hand, brings his lips close to Cyprian's ear. "It's okay, I'll wait just outside the door." Kieran's footsteps pad out of the room. Cyprian lets out the breath he doesn't remember holding.

"You shouldn't call him that," Cyprian says. He's so angry at Cullen he could flay him alive. He's always meddling, trying to keep them apart when Cyprian has made it quite clear Kieran isn't going anywhere. 

"Please, Cyprian. See reason. He is not good for you."

"Why?" Cyprian hisses. "Because of some made up prophecy no one will tell me about? Nothing has happened and Kieran has been here for months. We've been fucking for months. I love him and he's not going anywhere. You just wish to control me as you always have. But I'm no longer a little boy you can parade around. I'm not your puppet anymore."

"Cyprian, listen."

"No!" he interrupts. "I will not listen, because you have nothing worth saying. I love Kieran. You knew that then as you know it now. I will not be parted from him again."

Cyprian stalks from the room, intending to leave Cullen behind. 

"You don't know what it is he wants!"

He has enough breath for this, "is it so impossible to believe that he wants me? That for once in my life, someone wants me, instead of the Mark on my hand?"

Cullen stays silent.

As he promised, Kieran is waiting on the other side of the door. He must have heard everything. Instead of taking his hand, Cyprian grabs Kieran by his narrow hips, pushing him against the stone wall of the hall. Cyprian attacks his pale throat first, before moving higher to Kieran's lips.

"He'll hear," Kieran almost taunts with his pretty lips. "Is that what you want?"

"Maker," Cyprian groans, spiking his pelvis into Kieran's. "You're going to look so beautiful at Halamshiral." He keeps on grinding their erections together. But he wants to talk, leaving their mouths apart. "Do you remember when we first met?"

Kieran laughs, "of course I do. They dressed you in that terrible red coat. It was so ugly. And you danced with the blonde elf. You were very graceful. And your mother forgot all about you."

"She's not my mother," Cyprian corrects. Sometimes, though, he forgets to correct. 

"She still forgot about you." Kieran pecks at Cyprian's nose. "We were very small then. But we are not small anymore."

Cyprian watches as the gold in Kieran's eyes starts blotting out the green. 

"There is going to be someone, at Halamshiral. He will be waiting for us."

"Who?"

"The god who stole something important from me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I don't know if I'll be able to finish this storyline. I have it all in my head, but having the time to write it out, I don't know. I really love writing for these two, but I know it's not actually a shit anyone but me would be interested in, and I'm abstracting way out to Dragon 9:50. But anyway, I wrote this, so I figured I would post it.


	3. Chapter 3

They take their time dressing one another. The intimacy of fastening the clasps on Kieran's jacket makes Cyprian's hands shake. Just a touch. He takes the time to kiss at Kieran's neck before finishing, just at the junction of his throat. The brocade is slick beneath his fingers. Kieran's black jacket has a high neck that frames his face perfectly, makes his skin look paler. Cyprian is unsure he has seen anything more beautiful. 

"I'll do you now?" Kieran's lip quirks up at the edge. 

"Yeah, yeah of course." Cyprian steps back. He’s still shirtless, though he put on his cream-colored trousers earlier.

He'd let Kieran pick everything, well, everything not already demanded by Vivienne. She hand-selected the tailor from the Capitol. But Kieran selected the colors and the fabric and cut and everything. The tailor did well, Cyprian assumes, because Kieran is pleased with the results. He dresses Cyprian in forest green, in velvet, touching up against his abdomen more than necessary. When Kieran stands close to button up the jacket's silver clasps, it changes the color of his eyes. Once finished, Kieran comes up on his toes to kiss him, slow and steady. Still, it makes Cyprian want to throw him right back down against the bed and invade him.

Kieran grabs playfully at his hair. "Madame Vivienne will be cross you did not have it cut."

"Let her be. I like it long. Do you?"

Kieran nods, not letting go. If he keeps on at the teasing, Cyprian will stop resisting soon enough. He backs Kieran towards the bed. 

They arrived at Halamshiral earlier that morning, being issued rooms at the behest of the Divine. There isn’t much time until they have to pretend like they’re making a grand entrance. Cyprian finds such performances tiresome. They should just be able to go downstairs to the ball already in progress. 

Cyprian keeps backing Kieran up until the backs of his legs collide with the overstuffed bed. He pins Kieran down with his weight, slotting their legs together. Kieran doesn’t resist, or even complain they’ll mess the press of their clothes. When they kiss now it’s hurried, not the slow wave of earlier. Cyprian’s desperate to get inside him, but then they’ll have to start all over. He has to be content with the kiss and the grind. The warm way Kieran breathes at their friction. 

He tries to get Kieran to spread his legs further, to simulate the act he knows they don’t actually have time for. Cyprian wants to feel his friend yield. Kieran does.

“After tonight,” Kieran’s eyes are still green. “You may not love me anymore.” He curls Cyprian’s loose hair around one finger. Kieran’s face is flushed and his lips swollen. His darkness melts in the light of the bedding.

“I will. I told you, it doesn’t matter. I’ll love you no matter what. I loved you since the first time I saw you.”

Kieran smiles, a sad sort of thing.

“And I loved you even more when you came back to me. Because I understood now what I couldn’t then. But the point is, I loved you with-” 

Cyprian doesn’t have the right words. Because he doesn’t like the available options. He doesn’t believe in the Maker, not really. And the Old Gods, they can’t be denied. They can’t because he played stupid children’s games with a boy with one of those souls. A soul that was supposed to be vile and terrible even though dedicated to beauty. But he also can’t articulate what Kieran was, what he is, what he is going to be when they lure Solas. 

“You can’t even say it,” still with that soft, pretty smile. “It’s okay. I at least had you for a little while.”

“You’re not losing me,” Cyprian punctuates his statement with a roll of his hips. “You’re not losing me when you take your soul back.”

“Cyprian…”

“It’s Urthemiel or whatever, I know” he says dismissively, “but that doesn’t really matter to me, okay? I don’t care if it was the soul of some elf-god a real long time ago. It was, is, yours. If you say it belongs to you and not to him, I will find it for you. I will give it back to you. And I love you now, without it. I’ll love you tomorrow, with it. It doesn’t matter, Kieran. As long as I’m with you. And-” 

Kieran cuts him off with his mouth, pressing up, urging Cyprian to press back down. His hands reach for Kieran’s smaller ones, weaving their fingers together. He pulls Kieran’s hands up until they’re above his head, until Cyprian holds him vulnerable against the mattress.

There is a knock at the door, but the interloper does not wait to be invited in. 

Vivienne stands in the doorway, resplendent as ever, dressed in white and silver, her mask in one hand. She tisks at their position, tangled in the bedsheets. Scolds them for wrinkling their clothing. 

“Come with me. I obviously cannot assume you will follow in your own time.”

She hands Kieran and Cyprian their masks. Gold and silver respectively. 

“You needn’t put them on yet, but must before we arrive at the Palace gates.”

Cyprian smugly points out they’re already inside the palace. Vivienne is not amused. She also tells him to mind he is not erect by the time anyone sees him.

\--

They arrive as Vivienne and Josephine wished, to much chatter, gossip, and longing looks.

It is Cyprian’s first formal outing since he has come of age. He is not an idiot, he has seen the stacks of letters of Josephine’s desk from Orlais, some from other places across the continent. No where is really excluded. They started weeks before his eighteenth birthday, trying to edge in early. 

It does not help matters that, by technicality, he is noble born. Ten years ago, being a mage and a bastard precluded him from claiming his inheritance, including his grandfather’s holdings in Ostwick. But as the only son of the ill Bann’s eldest daughter, he would be an attractive marriage prospect even without the title “Inquisitor.” 

He wishes Josephine would just burn the letters. But he knows she and Vivienne read them. Sort them into different stacks. Thinking of it makes him ill. 

Cyprian makes a show of holding Kieran's hand as they cross the threshold, back into the Winter Palace. Vivienne was right, that coming in through the front door is different than merely descending from their quarters. Around them, voices chatter, about him and Kieran both. They all know him, well they know the Herald of Andraste. Some whisper, wondering if the man at his side is the boy they think he is. That occultist's son. The witch who served Empress Celene. They were both just boys the last time they were here. Was it the same Ball, the gossips wonder. Of course, when the now Divine killed Dutchess Florianne.

A number of women approach them, well, Cyprian, asking forthright for dances yet to come. The women smell like all manner of flowers, mixed together until they no longer taste sweet. Cyprian is not particularly fond of their soft hands pressing against his coat. Under different circumstances, he is sure they are quite charming. And clever, and kind. Some of them must be. Some of them do not even approach him of their own volition, he can see it in their smiles. Their parents have given them instructions, no doubt in regards to unanswered missives, to speak to the Inquisitor, to smile at him, to make him fall in love.

It will not matter to correct them. That he already loves another. That his interest in women does not extend to their breasts and cunts. Even that he is a mage is no longer an obstacle. Kieran cannot give house Trevelyan an heir and they will always assume he is in need of one.

He wraps his arm about Kieran's smaller waist, keeping him close at his side, their hips pressed together as he deflects requests to dance and drinks his wine.

"Oi! What about me!" A floppy mop of blonde hair bounces in front of him. She is dressed in blue, all the way to the floor in waves of her skirts, the sunburst upon her breast. It marks her as an agent of the Divine. The black mask she wears does nothing to obscure her identity from Cyprian.

"Sera!" For her, and perhaps her alone, Cyprian lets go of Kieran's waist. Instead, he grabs up Sera, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around. She laughs so loud and bright Cyprian feels it in his marrow.

She feels so tiny in his arms. He's been taller than her since he was thirteen, maybe a bit younger. Now he towers over her. Her cheeks turn bright pink as she laughs. The sleeves of her dress billow out when she waves her arms. 

"I feel like I haven't seen you in so long, little man." She punches Cyprian in the arm.

"Well, your schedule is so full, what with being the Left Hand and all."

"Oh, I give the Divine a hand, alright." She twirls, sticking her hands on her hips, "do you like my dress?"

"It's lovely," he means it. Though, Cyprian does not consider himself a good judge of such things.

"And who is your friend, eh?" She leans to one side to peer around Cyprian. 

That's funny, "you don't recognize him?"

"Oh, oh! OH!" Sera exclaims. "The strange little one, Morrigan's son."

"Kieran," Cyprian corrects.

"He got...pretty," she tilts her head.

Cyprian blushes, mumbles out, "I noticed," and rubs the back of his neck. Vivienne forced him to at least wear his hair tucked into a short ponytail rather than loose. 

Sera is called away to other matters. She assures Cyprian that Cassie is around, she'll be sure to see him. Also to not mention that she just called her Cassie, it'll only make her mad. Even if it makes her blush when they're alone.

There isn't enough wine at the party to get him good and cloudy. Or at least the wine that is there doesn't come around fast enough. He likes the white better than the red. Kieran teases him about that. 

He holds Kieran close as they dance. Even with his natural grace, Kieran isn't very good at it. Cyprian lacks the grace, but remembers his childhood lessons well enough. Kieran tucks his head against Cyprian's shoulder. Whispers that he likes this, but wishes it were just the two of them. No one else. Wrapping his arm tighter around Kieran's waist, Cyprian promises Kieran anything he wishes.

The music lulls and Kieran pulls back, looking up at Cyprian. His eyes are gold. 

"Solas is here."

Cyprian kisses Kieran again, making sure everyone bored or interested enough to be staring at him sees.

"For certain?"

Kieran's fingers curl in the fabric of Cyprian's coat, pulling at the seams. "I feel it. What is mine."

Nodding, Cyprian leads Kieran up the stairs with him. They don't have their staves. Weapons were not permitted. Still, he has three small knives tucked against his stomach. He snuck them in when Kieran was not looking. The bulk of the jacket has kept them hidden. He doesn't really know how to use them, but he figures they are better than nothing at all. And they'll be able to use their magic, at least a little bit, without the aid of a staff's focus. Kieran is particularly adept at saffless spells.

Another young woman tries to steal his time. With this one he is less patient, snapping at her that it should be perfectly obvious that he is busy with his friend. Trying to diffuse Cyprian's anger, Kieran lightly jokes that they are, indeed, friends.

"If I get my way," Cyprian's eyes dart across the room, ostensibly to try and locate Solas, but mostly so he doesn't have to face Kieran's rejection, if it is to come. "I'll call you 'husband' as soon as I am able."

"Cyprian..." Kieran's grip on his jacket tightens, fingers twisting.

When Cyprian looks into Kieran's eyes, the are green again.

"We should find Solas," turning away, Cyprian changes the subject.


	4. Chapter 4

Cyprian cannot sense Solas's presence, not as Kieran claims to. So, instead of leading, he follows. He holds tight to Kieran's hand, letting his friend pull him through the crowd of dancing, drinking, chattering bodies. He can feel each bone under the skin, too close to the surface. Under his jacket, Cyprian is warm. He perhaps drank too much. He tries to blink away his cloudiness from under his silver mask.

Kieran says nothing, but his hand is warm. Usually, he is not so hot to the touch. His determination in this matter is apparent. Cyprian will not let his own, momentary reservations hold him back. He loves Kieran, more than anything. He will stay by his side, no matter what. No matter what the warnings of his advisors. Their opinion on this matter is biased.

"We're close."

They have moved far from the glittering chandeliers, the bustling crowd of half-intoxicated Orlesians, bodies full with desire, political and physical. Cyprian can only dimly hear them now, continuing their machinations downstairs. Instead, they stand in a darkened hallway, a row of nondescript doors that may hide a great many things. They look perfectly ordinary.

"Here? Cyprian questions. He's not even certain how Kieran was certain Solas would be at Halamshiral. But weeks ago, he knew this moment would arise.

Kieran nods, letting go of Cyprian's hand to examine each door. He presses his palm flat against the first few in the line, as if testing them. "Cyprian, try it, with the Anchor."

"Which door?"

Shaking his head, Kieran responds, "I'm not sure."

Cyprian kisses the side of Kieran's head before following directions. He touches the first door with the tips of his fingers, nothing happens. Kieran takes him to the next door, and the next. At the fourth door, the Anchor reacts. Trembling green, sprouting tendrils of magic. Cyprian has not flared against his will in many years. His training always preached self-control, too often to his own detriment. 

But the gentle glow from his hand is not terrifying. It's not painful as it once was. As a child it hurt so much. Like tearing flesh from bone, white-hot and terrifying. Back then he was weak. Closing a solitary rift would cause him to sleep for hours after, still disquieted by phantom pain. But Cyprian is not weak anymore. The Anchor cannot hurt him now.

"This one, then," Kieran puts his hand next to Cyprian's. The curl of the Anchor's magic starts to wrap around his wrists, between his pale, bony fingers. Like Cyprian's borrowed magic is merging with Kieran. He starts to pull his hand back, but Kieran whispers "No."

Instead of withdrawing, Kieran weaves his fingers with Cyprian's. The Anchor's magic binds them together, wrapping them like a gift. Kieran smiles with pure joy. "I haven't felt it in so long."

That's right. When they were small, and Cyprian had less control, this would happen as they played. A sudden swell of the Anchor when he tripped and fell when running. Kieran grabbed his hand to help him up. Josephine was crossing the courtyard; she saw them and yelled. Bull pulled them apart, hoisting Cyprian off the ground like a jointed doll.

But now the fabric feels incredibly intimate, like when they fuck but better, because the sensation singes its way across Cyprian's skin. Into every fiber. Every time Kieran breathes, Cyprian can feel it dance in his lungs too. The fade-green washes over Kieran's face in the darkness, making it bright.

"This is why they were afraid." He stares at Kieran. Neither can look away.

Kieran asks, "Are you afraid?"

"No."

Kieran takes their twined hands and holds them at the door's lock. The brass knob and plate fall away, like petals wilting. 

"My mother refused to tell me everything." Kieran bites his bottom lip. "But I know that the Anchor has more to do with me, than it has to do with you. Maybe with both of us, together. And I think with him."

"You mean with Urthemiel?" 

Kieran nods. "With the Old Gods. And with Solas."

He opens the door with his left hand, keeping his right bound in Cyprian's. The room is dusty, unused. Furniture draped with heavy cloth to keep the dust out clutters most of the available space. It is dark, but for a light in the center, partially obscured by a slim figure. The glow radiates from him, like it is inside his chest.

When the figure turns, there is no mistaking him, though Cyprian has not seen his face in five years. "Solas."

The hesitant smile is visible enough with shining thing at his ribcage. "I knew you would come. Both of you. Only, I had not anticipated it would be together. Or so soon." He pulls the light from between his bones, passes the little orb from one hand to the other.

"That is mine!" Kieran rages. 

Letting go of Cyprian's hand, he darts towards Solas. Kieran reaches forward with a hand still laced with green from the Anchor, added to blue from his frost spell. It is the cast Kieran has used the longest, the one that springs most readily from his hand.

Though the room is small, with not much space to cover, Solas is quick, throwing up a barrier to keep Kieran's Anchor-augmented spell from crashing through. Icicles splinter as they hit the barrier, shattering out across the floor like broken glass. The shards are still tinged green.

But Kieran does not relent, intending no doubt to throw his body against Solas. To fight him in the flesh when the magic fails. Cyprian screams at him to stop, following on his heels. He'd have a better chance against Solas than Kieran would. He's bigger and heavier and Bull taught him to fight, a little. But Kieran has the head start. Solas blasts him away, leaving a crumpled mess against the opposite wall. His mask falls away.

Cyprian's attention tears. Which direction? Towards Solas and the orb, that piece of Kieran, or back towards his friend's unmoving body? He can't have both.

Kieran wants Urthemiel's soul. Perhaps more than anything else. Perhaps more than he wants Cyprian.

Solas can't blast again, not yet. If Cyprian waits, he'll miss his chance. He lunges for the light, but Solas steps back. The mirror behind him comes to life, an inventory of shimmers. The interstitial space between worlds revealing its position. Cyprian has not been to the Fade for a long time. Not since he was little. Not since the last time he saw his mother's image.

The mirror accepts Solas whole, swallowing him up before turning back to solid glass. Cyprian screams at it, as if that would make a difference. He calls Solas a whole matter of names before Kieran's groan rouses him from his rage.

Turning, Cyprian feels like such the idiot for having forgotten. He kneels by Kieran on the floor bundling him up into his arms, half in his lap. Pushing his black hair around, he looks for any sign of blood or injury. Kieran is shaken, but he doesn't appear wounded. Just a thin sliver of blood from the back of his scalp.

"Kieran, Kieran?" Cyprian is desperate for him to respond, to have some indication that Solas did not render invisible damage. Cracks along his bones, venom in his blood.

Kieran's green eyes open under dark lashes. They look unfocused at first, but sharpen as he stirs. "Cyprian?" His hand comes up to pull away Cyprian's mask.

Relieved, Cyprian holds him close pressing kisses to his hair. "Solas went through the mirror."

"Eluvian? Show me."

Cyprian helps Kieran to his feet and they approach the mirror together. Placing their hands intertwined again, Kieran presses their joined magics to the unmarked surface of the glass. Nothing happens.

"It's not the right key. Or it's locked from the other side." He tilts his head. "My mother had one. Do you remember? It was at Skyhold when we were there." Kieran thinks to himself.

The green from the Anchor spreads out over the gilt frame of the mirror, but it stays quiet. 

"I think I know where her Eluvian is. Maybe we can open that one. It has responded to my presence before."

Cyprian nods. "But will it go to the same place? To where Solas went?"

"Eventually. It will take us to the Crossroads. Everything spokes out from there. He could be anywhere. But with an Eluvian, we can go anywhere."

Kieran pulls their hands off of the glass.

"Cyprian, do you trust me?"

He does not hesitate, "Yes."

"Then we will see out this wretched party." He lets go of Cyprian's hand, instead worrying at the buttons on Cyprian's jacket. "I will keep those women and men so desperate for your attention away from you. It will be abundantly clear to them all."

Cyprian smiles, "what will be clear to them?" He grabs at Kieran's waistband, dipping his fingers inside and pulling Kieran closer so their hips bump together. Then their noses.

"That you are mine, and I am yours. That we will not be parted."

"And what then, predator?" If Kieran is inclined to talk, Cyprian is ready to let him.

There is a purring in Kieran's chest. "You will take me back to our room. Fuck me until I forget myself entirely."

Cyprian slams Kieran against the wall without thinking, knocking his head again. He kisses Kieran until he tastes copper in his mouth. But he's right, they must return to the party first. They must see out this social call because the Inquisition, the Divine's favor, grants them the latitude to pursue their own agenda. 

"It's going to be impossible," Cyprian laughs, "to keep my hands off of you while all those nobles watch. I'd take you in front of all of them, strip you bare, shove my cock into you, just to show them how beautiful you are. How perfect. Maker, Kieran."

They hold on to each other for too long in the darkness of the room. But the questions downstairs about their absence have already been asked.

\--

When Cullen tries to call him aside for a moment, Cyprian snaps back that he is busy. He downs the rest of the glass in his hand in time to pluck another from a passing tray. The Commander holds firm, saying that they must talk, alone.

Leaving Kieran unattended is impossible. He tells Cullen this.

Sighing, Cullen does not return until he has Sera on his arm. She promises to dance with Kieran, not let another soul near. "By the honor of the Divine's Left Hand!" That doesn't mean anything, but Sera's promise does.

Cyprian keeps a glass with him as he follows Cullen to the balcony. Worst case, he can smash it over the oaf's head, knock him out. Maybe bore the glass shards into his eyes.

Cullen's eyes are the worst part. After all these years, they're still the worst. The way they match his.

The sky is the color of blackberries before they rot. Cyprian can practically taste them.

"You have a bruise on your neck," Cullen observes.

Cyprian presses his fingers to where Kieran marked him earlier. He hadn't noticed it left a bruise. Didn't bother to check.

"That's the fucking reason you brought me here?"

"No. I brought you here because you smell like the Fade."

Cyprian freezes. Cullen is one of a handful of people who walk Thedas who would know. 

"No, I don't."

"You do, it is not something so easily forgotten, though I may wish to forget. What have you been doing, Cyprian?"

He hates it. The way Cullen looks at him as if he cares for him. As if he thinks Cyprian is anything more than a dangerous, volatile weapon that must be contained, controlled. Magic is a contaminate in his blood. And its presence in Cyprian implicates something Cullen wishes not to think on.

"It does not concern you."

"Is it the Witch?"

"For fucks sake, do not call him that. Kieran. His name is Kieran."

"Is it? Do you-"

"What?" Cyprian interjects, "do I know my friend? My best friend. Who you didn't allow me? Who you sent away? Yes," Cyprian seethes, "I know him."

"I only worry for you, Cyprian."

"Who are you to judge me and my choices, Cullen? Because you fucked my mother? Did you even know her name?"

Cullen remains silent, looking out over the pinhole stars.

"And don't you dare. Don't you dare put her name in your mouth now. The cheat of my aunt's letters to help you."

Leaving Cullen on the balcony, Cyprian returns to the ball.

\--

Cyprian only sees the Divine very briefly. The creases at the corners of her eyes are deeper than when he last saw her. He knows this because she always smiles when first catching sight of him. They hug, she pulls him close. He bends down so that she may kiss his cheeks. Age has made the Divine more affectionate than Seeker Pentaghast ever was.

She says she is happy that he is well. That he should visit her at Val Royeaux soon, very soon. 

Mumbling apologies, Cyprian does not wish to stay in her presence. Once, he loved her deeply. Really, he still does. She has always done what she thought best for Thedas first, for him second. Those priorities are sound. 

Cyprian did not know a world where he was loved unconditionally after his mother died. He knows it now with Kieran at his side. Victoria, like the others, will demand he is sent away. Cassandra already did so once.

But there is something else on her mind. She excuses herself without a reprimand for him. Cyprian breathes easier. No further obligations to this gathering remain. He finds Kieran, pressed close to one of the grand pillars in the ballroom.

Leaning over, he whispers in Kieran's ear a fraction of the things he wishes to give him. Chief among them, himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are spoilers for the Trespasser DLC in this chapter (although reinterpreted given that the Exalted Council never takes place).

Cyprian wakes before Kieran in the early morning light. The birds are so loud. During the night, they've bunched up the bedroll around them, sticking it to their skin to keep out the chill. He puts his nose into his friend's dark hair, breathing deeply. The scent is slightly that of ash, slightly that of salt.

The nights are colder than they thought they would be. And while Cyprian makes a fire before they go to sleep, it's always out by morning. Not that Cyprian minds when Kieran burrows against his chest, twining his arms around his body. They sleep practically inside one another.

He doesn't know if anyone is following them. He doesn't think so, but it would be just like Cullen to send a spy after him, to not leave them well enough alone. Cyprian made a point of telling Vivienne that they would return when their business was completed. She asked what that business was. 

"None of yours."

Keeping secrets is a luxury in which Cyprian has seldom been allowed to partake. He'll wrestle it from the unrelenting grip his captors now. For this. For Kieran.

Winds beat against the side of the canvas tent. Horribly loud. Cyprian is restless to get moving again, but he won't wake the sleeping body in his arms.

"Cyprian?" He feels the name as vibrations across his chest.

As a reply, he kisses the top of Kieran's head again.

"Mmhm, cold." Kieran shifts closer in the shell of Cyprian's arms. "But it's not much further, now."

The Kocari Wilds seem to stretch on forever. They descended from the mountains a week ago, pushing on towards the last place Kieran saw his mother's Eluvian. He's convinced that it will grant them entry to the Crossroads, where the one at the Winter Palace, under Solas' control, denied them.

Cyprian plays with Kieran's hair. Pain shoots through his wrist, down the line of his bone. It's sudden and sharp and the Anchor reacts. Shit.

Quickly, Kieran grabs the afflicted hand, cradling it between both of his. The frost leaves Kieran's palms, coats the Anchor, melding with it into green-blown glass that bubbles and shatters against the bedding.

"Kieran, Kieran what is happening?"

Kieran shakes his head. "I don't know, not really-"

The shards slow, the pain subsides. Cyprian tries to calm his breathing. He does not want to cry in front of Kieran. Not over something as silly as his hand. When his flesh goes from green back to brown, Kieran puts his hand to his lips, kissing at his fingers.

"Does it hurt now?"

"No, Kieran, no, Maker."

Kieran stops kissing his hand, moves up to Cyprian's lips. He cradles Cyprian's face in his unnaturally cold grip. Cyprian resolves to warm him up, rolling on top of him, struggling to keep the sheets wrapped around them. He grabs Kieran's thighs, spreading them around his hips. Kieran's legs are thin and cool to the touch, run over with gooseflesh and fine hairs. 

"Let me, please," Cyprian is not above begging, not for something as sweet as this, the taste of Kieran on his tongue. He's not blind to his own addiction. "Let me in, Kieran, need you." His hips buck against Kieran's pressing him into the ground, pinning him in place. He grinds their cocks together, thrilled that his friend is hard as well. Needy, Maker. He needs Kieran to be as consumed as he is. To be as white-hot and filled with this insatiable lust. Like this, he could forget everything else.

Kieran bites against Cyprian's throat, nips and pulls flesh between his sharp teeth. He sucks at his skin, panting, "Yes, Cyprian, yes."

It takes some maneuvering to shed their pants, clawing at each other. Cyprian slept shirtless, but Kieran is too easily chilled for that. He decides to leave it on, liking the way the dark, rough color contrasts with Kieran's skin.

Cyprian sticks his fingers in Kieran's mouth, cooing at him to suck. Kieran's eyes flutter closed as he starts licking, his tongue darting between spread digits. Maker, Cyprian thinks it's incredibly, beautifully perverse, the way Kieran sucks at him. Doesn't get a view like this when it's on his cock.

The first finger slides in without much trouble, Kieran blooming around him. Like this, he isn't so cold. He's just as beautiful though, always.

Cyprian will never be convinced this is a trick of Old Gods and their wandering souls: that he's never seen anyone as beautiful as Kieran because he happened to be a vessel devoted to beauty. Cyprian wouldn't be fooled by so cheap a trick. Kieran looks like this, feels like this, tastes like this, because they are meant to be. He is meant to sheath his cock in this body below him, fill him up, and make him come, whispering words of his devotion. And the devotion Cyprian receives, he pays back tenfold.

Once inside Kieran, buried to the hilt, Cyprian pulls his friend up, sitting him in his lap. He takes Kieran by his slim hips, rocking him on his cock. The blankets slide away, down the arch of Kieran's back to pool below his hips. Kieran works his cock in one hand, the other wrapped around Cyprian's shoulders, fingers straining for his hair.

"That's it, Predator, come for me. Wanna watch you come on my cock. Wanna watch you fall apart. Shit, Kieran, fuck."

He's close too, watching how Kieran's bones move under translucent skin. Like he's going to burst right through.

Cyprian knocks him back over, pounding his hips into Kieran's hard enough to leave blue-black bruises. He likes Kieran perfect, but he loves him marked, owned, his faults on his friend's pretty body.

Kieran is silent as he comes, but his mouth is open and his green eyes wide. He shudders like a spirit leaves him, trembling in the aftermath as Cyprian refuses to relent. Close, he's so close. Kieran is tight and twitching around his swollen cock. Cyprian can't see anything but green flickering across his vision. When he comes, it's such a relief he nearly cries. To push away his weakness, he laughs instead.

"Maker," he swipes his tongue over Kieran's parted lips. "Your ass should be illegal." He pulls out. "It's too fucking good."

Kieran is quiet, but he's smiling.

It doesn't take them long to break up camp. They've gotten proficient at it over the weeks they've been traveling. It would be faster with horses, but the terrain isn't suited for them. So they walk through the Wilds.

Cyprian keeps hold of Kieran's hand as the walk. He asks a lot of questions, about this flower or that bird. Kieran just repeats that he doesn't know much. He and his mother stayed here for about a year, but he didn't grow up here. The Crossroads took Kieran and his mother to many places, none of them home.

"I feel that way too," Cyprian admits. "Ostwick, Kinloch, Haven, Skyhold, I never belonged to any of those places. I spent almost half my life at Skyhold, but I don't belong there. I'm still just this...tool they use when it suits them."

Kieran reaches up, touching the pads of his fingers to three points on Cyprian's neck. The pressure makes them hurt a little. They're the places Kieran marked him with his teeth. They keep walking. 

"My home is with you," Kieran comments.

Cyprian squeezes his hand.

\--

The hut is small and dusty, barely big enough for two people to turn around. Much less two people and the giant spider, who has taken up residence. Kieran warns Cyprian that the roof is thatch, and though it is heavy with wet and decay, fire is likely to bring it down upon them like a smoldering grave.

Instead of fire, Cyprian uses force, pinning the spider to the opposite wall before it can lunge. Its legs clatter against the uneven bricks, skittering. Kieran freezes it in place before Cyprian casts a second strike, breaking the monster apart. It slides back down the wall dismembered.

Once the spider is dispatched, Kieran sets about pulling the heavy sheet from over the Eluvian.

"It's intact," Kieran sounds relieved.

Cyprian remembers this mirror, from when it sat in that room at Skyhold. When they were boys, Kieran promised to never leave him, but all the same, he waked through the mirror alone. Leliana restrained Cyprian as he flailed, too small to break her hold, too weak. Useless. It had to have been some sort of trick, that Kieran tried to leave him behind.

The glass is still dark, still. Cyprian worries that it will not work. But Kieran has been convinced all along that he is the key to this mirror, with or without Urthemiel laced inside him.

"Cyprian, give me your hand." Kieran holds out his.

Slipping his Anchored hand into Kieran's, Cyprian has a last pang of doubt. Not about this plan, but about their success. No, there is no time for failure. If this Eluvian does not work, they will find another, and another, until they find Solas.

The Anchor weaves. Kieran presses their joined hands to the Eluvian, it shimmers to life.

"Is it for you or for me?" Cyprian asks.

"For us." Kieran smiles before bringing their hands away. The mirror darkens.

"Why did you stop it? I thought you wanted to go through? That's why we came out here right? We'll get Solas, I promise. I won't let him get away this time, no matter where he went."

Kieran hushes Cyprian, putting his fingers to his lips.

"I know, Cyprian, but let me talk for a second, okay?" He takes both of his hands, tangling them in Cyprian's, making sure their fingers line up. "If we live through this, make it out the other side, I'll be your husband. If you'll still have me?"

"If I find your soul?"

Kieran shakes my head. "Not a condition. Only, if you'll still have me. After all you see and hear. After everything Solas is sure to show you." He squeezes Cyprian's hands.

Leaning forward, Cyprian kisses him, pushing out "Yes, yes, yes," between contacts.

"Say it again, after," Kieran's sadness taints the room.

They pass through the mirror.

\--

The Crossroads are cold. The air still. Cyprian worries that Kieran's robes are not warm enough, but he refuses taking his to layer on top. No matter how Cyprian insists, Kieran won't relent. Besides, if they need to fight, Cyprian will be better off with the runes and augmentations the mage robes provide. 

Cyprian sticks close to Kieran's side, he seems to know where they are going, to have a particular gateway in mind. Here, in the endless autumn, all the Eluvians welcome them, lighting up as they pass them. They don't even have to touch. 

The path below their feet is narrow, dropping off into an endless void below. Pathways branch, receding into the distance, to yet unseen spaces.

It's as if the Crossroads welcome them, in an odd way, with the shimmers rising and falling in their wake. The Anchor stays alight, wrapped around Kieran's smaller hand. They're alone here. Cyprian honestly wouldn't mind if it did drag on forever, just the two of them, and endless paths.

Kieran nods towards the frame, colors like tides across the surface. Like big soap bubbles catching the light.

"Through here?" Cyprian asks.

Kieran nods.

On the other side, the path is even more fragmented, a patchwork of earth and rock, endlessly falling. The ground vibrates fiercely. Cyprian holds tight to Kieran's hand. They run as the dirt crumbles beneath their feet. Faster, faster. He's worried Kieran can't keep up with his shorter legs, but he won't let go. His vision narrows to just the next step, then the next one. They have to leap over the gap.

They can't slip, if they fall, it will be endless. 

The final platform they strike feels solid beneath Cyprian's feet. He takes a moment to breathe, but tries not to take the stability for granted. Next to him, Kieran coughs, releasing Cyprian's hand in his tremors.

When they break contact, Cyprian is overwhelmed by the pain. The Anchor spasms, tearing at his flesh, like it is trying to split through his bones. He grabs his wrist, trying anything to dull the agony. Gritting his teeth, he whimpers. He won't be weak. He won't be! Not again!

"Cyprian," Kieran slides behind him on the ground, grabbing hold of his hand with his. "Don't let go."

Cyprian's eyes roll back in his head. It's okay. He's okay. The lingering tendrils are still there, but the pain is bearable now. Slowly fading.

"What is happening to me?"

Kieran kisses the back of his neck for comfort. "The Anchor. You were not meant to keep it for so long. I don't know more than that."

"I was not supposed to have it at all." Cyprian winces, "we should keep moving."

"We've arrived."

Indeed, the breeze begins to flow again, brushing over them. When Cyprian looks up, Solas stands before them. His robes are dense with fur, heavy around his body. Everything about him looks too thick, like he is twice the size he was at the Winter Palace.

"Indeed," Solas scoffs, "you have arrived."

He offers Cyprian a hand. Cyprian does not accept it clinging to Kieran instead.

"We're here for Urthemiel. Just, give him to us, and we will go." Cyprian will tear him apart for what is rightfully Kieran's, he just has to figure out how to do it without letting go.

Solas' eyes narrow. "Do you know what you ask? Why this boy has asked this of you? You are too kind, Cyprian, too eager to help. Just as you were as a child."

"I am NOTHING like that child," Cyprian snaps.

"Then tell me, Herald, what has the Vector told you?" Solas inclines his head towards Kieran. "What has he convinced you of? What lies, what omissions?"

Cyprian pushes himself up with his un-Anchored hand. Kieran follows him up, maintaining his grip on Cyprian. 

"That you took Urthemiel from him."

"I did not. It was another who extracted it. Though I am in possession of the soul he seeks now. But it was never meant for him. Never. Not a human."

Cyprian does not bother to bite back his frustration. "I don't care. I'll take it from you by force, if I must." 

Reaching forward, he summons a bolt of fire. Solas deflects it. The second cast, right on the heels of flame, is force. That just grazes the elf. Solas steps aside, but barely in time.

"Has the Vector told you my name? I would have liked to be the one to tell you, Herald. But it was not the time. Not back then. You would not have understood. Perhaps now, if I explain, you will. Now that you are older." There is sadness in each word, as if he pities Cyprian for having been stupid.

"What part of 'I don't care' do you not understand?"

Beside him, Kieran speaks. "Fen'Harel. You are the Dread Wolf."

Cyprian freezes.

"And you are a silly boy who wishes to become a false god. An empty vessel, who is now without value. Which of us is worse?"

"Kieran," Cyprian keeps his voice quiet. Solas may know he is speaking, but he tries to at least hide the words. "Let go of me."

Kieran's whine is low, distressed, "Cyprian, please, trust me."

"I caged Urthemiel, and the others, when I created the Veil. But you humans could not leave well enough alone. Meddling in affairs beyond your abilities." Solas sighs, "had it not been the humans, it would have been these shadows, these elves who are not elves."

"Kieran, trust me too. Okay?"

"Tell me, Vector, did your foolish mother think herself quite clever? Did she tell you she had outwitted a god? Trapped him in your fragile body? Did she lead you to believe he would make you strong?"

Kieran squeezes his hand around the Anchor.

"No, she only told me I was loved." His hand unfurls from around Cyprian's wrist.

As soon as Kieran releases him, the pain returns, clawing and spiking through Cyprian's body. His window to act is narrow. Too long, and he will faint from the pain. Reaching forward, Cyprian means to tear Solas apart, to split him open, to his core. Then they can pull Urthemiel, Kieran, from his ribboned body. He tells the Anchor to twist and tear, as he did five years prior, when he blotted Coryphaeus from existence.

But it fails.

Solas put his hand forward as well, and the Anchor grows dark. "The Vector is not the only one who may rock the Anchor to slumber." Solas sighs deeply. "But, I suppose, you have held it too long already. The Divine is smarter than she appears. I should not have underestimated her. She knew well enough to keep you from activating it these past few years. But it is time for you to part."

Behind him, Kieran screams. He is a blur as he passes Cyprian. When he crashes, full force, into Solas, the elf's control on the Anchor breaks. The pain returns in full force. 

Cyprian collapses.


	6. Chapter 6

Cyprian wakes, his head in Kieran's lap, his Anchored hand between both of Kieran's smaller ones, and his eyes on the overcast false-sky of the Crossroads. There's no sun, only dispersed light, filtered through gray clouds, illuminating the cracked spaces below. Air runs through the thatches of tall grass clinging to crumbling outcroppings of earth. The landscape is fractured.

It hurts, everything hurts. From his toes to his forehead. Not searing pain as before, but an aching one, ever present and holding him down. Trying to move, he realizes he can, but the pain is worse.

Kieran leans over, kissing his forehead where his dark curls fall away. Cyprian realizes his lips are cracked dry when Kieran leans further yet to touch them. Their kiss is only brief.

"What happened?" At the very least, his voice sounds like his own.

Kieran sighs. "Solas, I let him go." He looks away, at something in the endless distance. "But I got it, me, Urthemiel."

"You did?" Cyprian doesn't mean to sound incredulous. But Solas seems so powerful. Like nothing Cyprian has encountered before. Energy crackling along his bones.

Nodding, Kieran continues, "he meant what he said, that I am a vector, a shell, for something more powerful, something he thinks dangerous. Fen'Harel thinks of Urthemiel as a parasite, and I am his host. But he doesn't understand as well as he thinks. So much happened as he slept."

Cyprian reaches up with his un-Anchored hand to touch Kieran's face. It's warm. Really warm. Like there is sun hitting his skin. But it is cloudy.

"Urthemiel wants me, he does not want Solas, so when I ran, this time, he came to me. Inhabited me as he has done before. My mother's ritual ensured our bond was more complete than Solas assumed." Kieran's thumb runs circles across Cyprian's wrist.

Cyprian worries, with fissures in his lungs, tearing as he breathes, that with Urthemiel returned, there will be no space left inside Kieran for him. That whatever hollow feeling Kieran has been chasing away by crawling into Cyprian's bed, is healed. 

But no, no! Cyprian is not so easily mended, because his emptiness consists of more than a simple absence left to be filled. Not so simple as a soul.

His decimation is the hole of his childhood, a quarry where the Inquisition mined him like a mineral, like something precious. Chipping away as they needed the Anchor to close the rifts. Then as they blasted him, wholesale, carting off tons of sediment that he did not have to spare, young and lonely as he was. They scraped and cut and wrecked him in the name of Thedas. They do not have even the decency to regret what they have done.

But, perhaps it is enough that Kieran is here, holding his hand and staving off the otherwise unrelenting torment of the Anchor. Cyprian must still hold some value, something to be traded.

"Tis beautiful," Kieran looks out across the Crossroad again, his gold eyes refusing to settle. "I wish you could see it as I do now, oh, Cyprian." He sounds so hauntingly out of breath, flushed. "Solas thinks it horrific, this disintegrating place between worlds that should not be separated. But in its blending, its amalgamation, it's so beautiful."

Cyprian tries to see. But he can't. He never will. There will always be clouds in his eyes.

\--

Sitting at his desk, boots crashed on the tabletop and stacks of parchment strewn about, Cyprian culls his paperwork. He tosses aside missives too out of date to be of any concern at this point. He throws out sheets that would have never required his attention in the first place. Only a few of the letters accumulated in his weeks away are of any consequence now. 

Anything actually important, from dignitaries or potential allies, is plucked from the crows' spindly legs before Cyprian can even see them. His advisors still put little faith in him. They will always think him a child. They are wrong.

What remains from the stack, he reads with great care, between long gulps of red wine. The servants brought him a full carafe. He runs his finger along the rim of the glass, staining it purple. It is still an hour before noon.

Before the Crossroads, Kieran would have sat with him, stretched out across the sofa opposite Cyprian's desk. As the clock crept on, he would slip into Cyprian's lap, play with his hair, kiss his neck, or drop to his knees under the table, work open Cyprian's trousers to free his cock. Inevitably, they would end up half naked and fully hard, Cyprian rutting into Kieran's body, filling him up, clawing at him. On the floor or bent over Cyprian's desk, they would come away sweat-slicked and slightly numb, giddy with laughter.

Kieran does not come to his office anymore. Not since their return. He spends his days in the library, working over tomes written in Trade and Tevene. He's taken to occupying one bank of tables in an otherwise unused alcove. Sometimes, when Cyprian ascends the tower stairs to see Spymaster Harding, he catches Kieran asleep, his dark hair between white pages.

Kieran does not come to Cyprian's bed anymore. Instead, he sleeps in one of the smaller chambers in the mages' tower. Cyprian has stood before his door, lacking the resolve to knock. Sometimes, not at night, but during the day, they do speak. Kieran asks after the Anchor, if it troubles Cyprian. But it has not, not since they left the Eluvian.

The mirror itself is at Skyhold. They carried it back with them. Sometimes Cyprian goes to the room off the gardens looks into the glass, but he has no desire to touch it. Not as he aches to touch Kieran.

"Inquisitor," Cullen announces his arrival. 

Cyprian takes another drink from his wine.

"Commander." They have no scheduled business to conduct. Cyprian does not know why Cullen is here. He never knows.

"It is before noon," Cullen's attention is clearly focused on Cyprian's wine. 

To spite him, Cyprian drinks again. "Indeed. What do you need?"

Cullen hesitates. "You should send him away. Tell him to leave Skyhold. For good. And take his mother's Eluvian with him."

There is not enough drink in Thedas for this. There never will be. "Even now you cannot say his name," Cyprian observes.

"Inquisitor. Cyprian. This infatuation has run its course. Seeing him now only makes you miserable. You cannot deny it." Cullen's hands clutch around the pommel at his hip.

Of that, Cyprian truly wonders. Why is the Commander always armed within Skyhold's impressive walls? Who is he to fight, to control, to slay, if not Cyprian himself? A once-loyal templar to babysit the errant child-Herald. 

When Cyprian was little, Cullen was his shield, but he has always been his shackles at well. Today is no different.

"If Kieran has business to conclude here, I am not one to deny him access to the materials he needs." He wishes his tone were more convincing. He wishes he had someone, anyone, to listen to him when he screams through gritted teeth.

Cullen sighs. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes have grown deep. Cyprian does not want to think what his own will look like at Cullen's age. But in reality, he is not so very old. Just past forty. 

"You should not keep things close which cause you anguish."

"Do you believe that, Cullen?" Cyprian almost uses it. That other name. The poison in his mouth, his blood, his eyes. 'Father.' "In my place, could you do it?" He rests his chin against the tall stack of papers on his desk, letting the words blur.

"No," Cullen hesitates, "but I believe you to be a better man than I."

Cyprian laughs at that. 

They hate each other. They probably always will. 

Cullen reminds Cyprian of his weakness, his long obliterated naivete. That time when he was small, and scared, when he looked for love in every face. Mistook his tactical value for reciprocated affection. 

Cyprian reminds Cullen of his failures, of the lyrium in his blood, and the magic too. That he could produce a mage-child with a woman he met just once, a long time ago. The very thing Cullen hates, he fears, he made.

"You don't believe that either, Commander."

This time Cullen does not argue.

"I want you to be happy."

Cyprian wishes Cullen would cease his lies, they are too much like comforts.

After Cullen leaves, Cyprian throws his empty glass against the wall, watching it shatter and shards fan out across the floor. Stupid. Childish. He puts his face into his hands, choking back the noise of his sobs. He will not be weak. Even when alone.

When the moment passes, he wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve. He has to ring a servant to clean up the glass. Otherwise, he'll forget about them and step on the fragments.

\--

The Divine comes to Skyhold. Kieran has not left. 

Cyprian waits with his advisors at the gates to greet Her Perfection, his hands clasped together behind his back. The Anchor continues to behave as it should. 

She arrives resplendent on horseback, Cassandra never cared for carriages. A whole host of attendants are at her service. Nearly a dozen. Skyhold has been prepared for their arrival. His heart drops a little when he does not see Sera with her. 

As she dismounts, he must be the first to greet her. Josephine walked him through the procedures in great detail. As if he were unaccustomed to meeting those in positions of power. He isn’t. He doesn’t need their coddling. Especially with the Divine. 

Though he does not believe in the Maker, not really, he follows the motions of showing respect, showing deference to her Most Holy. The edges of Victoria’s lips pick up when he does. It makes Cyprian feel dirty, to lie to her like this. 

Together, they walk.

The air is chilly, so he wears his heavy, fennec-lined coat over his attire. Victoria walks in her vestments alone, like the cold cannot reach her. Her cheeks turn bright pink, though. And the tip of her nose reddens. 

“I have missed you a great deal, Cyprian.”

He doubts it. She did not make much time for him when he was last at Halamshiral. Now, she is only passing through on her way to Denerim. A diversion from the most direct course, but not a difficult one. She will only spend a matter of days, letting the horses and staff rest. And news of her visit will be tacked to Chanters’ Boards across Thedas. There is always some maneuver. Cassandra may have not been a great player of the game, but those in Victoria’s service are.

“We’re always so busy,” he replies.

Victoria smiles as if it is some great secret. 

“You look very tired. But also good.” She is still exceedingly simple in her affections. That is a comfort.

“I-” if he starts, the dam will break. “I’m glad you took the time to see me. I think I needed this.”

When he knew Cassandra, she believed deeply in love, in passion. Cyprian is not sure he can say the same of Victoria. Perhaps, were Sera here, he could look into her more expressive eyes and know for certain. But, for the time being, there feels as if there is this great gulf between them. One he cannot bridge, even as he holds her hand in his as they walk. Once, when they held hands, it was as a guardian and child. Now, he wants to believe it to be as friends. He wants to believe he can tell her anything. But he can’t. Now that he is older, he knows he can't.

So, in the end, he says nothing of Kieran, Solas, or the Crossroads.

They end their walk in the center of the Great Hall, Cyprian bids the Divine goodnight. She must be tried from her journey. She does not correct him, instead coming up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek before departing.

Instead of retiring to his chambers, he ascends the tower stairs. When he passes the library, Kieran is not there, though his stacks of books and parchment are. He continues up.

At Harding’s desk he drafts a letter. He’s unsure if it makes any sense at all. But if anyone can decipher it, the meanings between what he actually puts down on paper, Sera can. So he simply writes in long, babbling sentences. Not about the Crossroads, or really about Kieran, but about himself. 

Before he is finished, he asks Sera if she still loves Cassandra, the way she did many years ago, when there was a hole in the sky and everything was dying. He asks her how to live a in world where the trauma is fading, but he yet remains.

When he heads back down the stairs, Kieran is there. The candles on his table lit to push back the encroaching darkness. He does not look up from his book.

\--

In the morning, it is Josephine, not the Divine, who informs him the Inquisition will be disbanded.


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you mean, Josephine?" Cyprian digs his fingernails into his palms. This cannot be happening. She may not simply arrive at his door and announce that the Inquisition has been disbanded. Such things do not happen. The Order is a young one, yes, and he may be young as well, but it has done nothing but aid Thedas in times of need. It has done nothing but help. 

More than that, for all the Inquisition's faults, it has sheltered him. 

"The Divine has decided that the Inquisition has run its course. It will take many months yet, to distribute the resources we have amassed, dismantle the troops, but our time is drawing to a close."

He already knows the answer, but he still asks. "Why was my opinion on the matter not consulted?"

Josephine keeps up her smile, but Cyprian knows well enough that she may maintain her facade under more dire circumstances than these. "While we are not technically subject to the Chantry, we do make certain concessions for the stability of Thedas."

"Cassandra thinks I have outlived my usefulness?"

Josephine's mask does not waver. They all think it. That now, with a mind of his own, his title, his power must be stripped. Had he been more docile, compliant, in the months following the entry into his eighteenth year, perhaps this would not have happened.

"You can go," he dismisses her before he says something more to ensure his demise.

"There is much left for you to do until that time, Inquisitor." 

How? He knows Josephine can keep her face light, cheery, but he does not know how. Not when he is dying inside.

"Go."

She leaves him.

\--

Cyprian's first order of business is to trash his quarters. 

He tears the fine tapestries from the windows, lighting them aflame. He smashes carefully resorted vases, then the tables that hold the vases, then anything else that remotely appears breakable. He lifts each item from its place, hurls it against the wall, listens for the crash. Incrementally he feels, not better, but more exhausted. 

If there are enough things in his possession to destroy, maybe he will stop short of himself.

Maker, he wants to tear at his flesh, pull it from his bones. Maybe then he will be as useless as he feels.

His voice echoes off the walls. Grunts, screams, melting into sobbing. He takes a broken off chair leg, curls his hands around its splinters. He bashes it against the stone, watching it crack apart on each strike. Once it is nothing but chips in his hands, he slides to the floor. His palms are rubbed raw and red. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

"I don't care! I don't!" he screams up to the ceiling, hoping all of Skyhold can hear him. If but one iteration could be true, perhaps he would not feel so wretched.

Cyprian falls asleep on the floor, worn.

\--

He stalks to the library, not caring that his arms are bruised, his eyes bloodshot, his breath sharp. Before leaving his quarters, he drank heavily from the flask in his desk drawer. Mercifully, he had not broken that in his rage. Now the liquor feels sweet in his veins, a little bit of cloudy comfort to make him act.

Normally, he would keep walking, right up to the top floor without hesitating. Perhaps he would see Kieran, perhaps not. He would push down the lust and anger into a knot of frustration, grind it up until it was powder choking his blood. But not this time.

Kieran is there, leafing through pages he has already marked with dark ink. His brows knit together as he works. Cyprian is not quiet, not subtle. Kieran hears his footsteps and looks up for his task, a faint smile on pink lips. In a way, Cyprian wishes he would acknowledge the giant wrong that stands between them.

"Cyprian?"

He grabs Kieran by the front of his robes, hoisting him out of his chair. The chair falls back against the floor with a clatter. Reaching behind him, Cyprian throws up a barrier in the archway of Kieran's alcove. While the library is not densely populated, the spell will muffle all sound. A precaution.

Kieran's breath quickens, his pulse too. Cyprian can feel it pounding against his chest, trying to escape the confines of Kieran's ribcage. He throws Kieran against the bookcase, covering his body with his own, pressing them closer and closer together until no space between them remains. The only other option is to be inside.

The Anchor stutters, painful lightning jolting up his arm. Just as quickly, it goes back out.

"You are mine," he growls against Kieran's cheek.

Cyprian kisses him, forcing his tongue past Kieran's teeth. His mouth is so sweet, so wet. Kieran groans back, his hands grabbing at Cyprian's tunic, pulling it in fistfuls. They kiss until they are both hard and breathless. Kieran pawing at him all the while, not pushing him away. Cyprian can feel Kieran warm against his thigh. Warm everywhere, when he used to be cool.

"Cyprian," his name is like a prayer. But Kieran is himself a god now. That's what led to this.

"Why?" Cyprian rolls his hips into Kieran's trying to coax his legs apart. "Why do you hate me?"

He has no patience for the buckles and belts holding together Kieran's robes. Starting at the neck, Cyprian starts to tear Kieran open like unwrapping a gift in great haste. The fabric yields.

Kieran reaches to the side to cast, his spell hitting Cyprian's barrier still in place. The light in the alcove is reduced to nothing but candles. Kieran's spell blocks out the light from both sides, hiding them from passers by.

Robes open from neck to waist, Kieran shudders under Cyprian's touch. Cyprian runs his hands over the expanse of Kieran's pale chest, stopping to tug at his pink nipples. Bending down, he lashes his tongue against one until Kieran keens, grabbing hold of Cyprian's hair.

"Tell me, why, Kieran. Why do you hate me?" Slipping his hands further into Kieran's robes, he grasps his narrow hips, holding him in place against the bookcase.

'Cyprian, I-"

Cyprian cuts him off with lips and teeth, biting at Kieran's bottom lip until blood seeps into his mouth. Cyprian licks it away. His nails puncture deeper into Kieran's skin, leaving claw marks behind.

Kieran's eyes are green, wide. He sucks down air in big gulps when Cyprian pulls his mouth away.

This time he does not even try to answer Cyprian's question. "Fuck me."

"Maker," Cyprian rasps, "Kieran."

He pulls Kieran away from the bookshelf, instead dragging him up on to the table. He is not as mindful of the candles as he should be, one falling to the floor, but it blots itself out on impact. Parchment and books, all so carefully arranged, hit the floor too, spread out across the table. He is going to wreck Kieran.

"Say it again," Cyprian doesn't mean to beg so.

"Fuck me," Kieran repeats. His eyes are screwed shut. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Cyprian flips him again, this time so his stomach and chest land over the desk, his boots on the floor. Kicking apart Kieran's feet, Cyprian hikes up the remnants of his robes to the waist. Kieran's hands grab at the edge of the table.

In his trouser pocket, Cyprian carries oil. He had come with every intention of mastering Kieran. If made to, he would have gotten on his knees and pleaded. This scenario he likes better: Kieran In tattered robes, his breath hitching, bruises blooming along his flesh, begging him to be taken. Beautiful.

Standing behind Kieran, Cyprian slicks his fingers against his hole. One slides in. Maker, he's tight. Weeks since they were last together coupled with the strain of their anxiety, desperation too. He leans over Kieran's body, kissing along his arched vertebrae. Cyprian works one finger until Kieran whimpers for more. More.

He pulls his finger out, instead kneeling down and pressing his mouth to Kieran, licking him open, spreading him. Kieran is wickedly loud, needy. Even if he hates Cyprian, he'll allow him this. He still wants this. Cyprian will give it to him. He stokes Kieran's cock in one hand, keeping him hard as he works. Part of him wants to hurt Kieran, like he has been hurt. Take him just at the edge of too soon so it will burn, so he will thrash in Cyprian's arms from the pain.

"Please, Cyprian, please."

Too impatient himself to delay any longer, Cyprian pulls his mouth away from Kieran's hole. He only pushes his trousers down far enough to free his erection. Standing, he pours more oil into his hand, rubbing it over his cock, then dripping the remainder along Kieran's ass. Slapping Kieran once, Cyprian makes him groan. He likes the pink mark the strike leaves behind.

Gripping one hand on Kieran's hip, the other at his shoulder, Cyprian slots into Kieran's body. Maker, Maker, he has to hold still to keep from coming right away. He wants to fuck Kieran until he's brutally sore. He doesn't want it to be over before it starts. Raking his nails from his shoulder to opposite hip, Cyprian draws a pained hiss from Kieran.

"Please."

He grabs Kieran's hips in both hands, drawing out his cock and slamming back in. The whole table shakes beneath them. Cyprian does it again and again, listening to Kieran chant "yes, yes." Once they settle into a rhythm, Kieran's thrusts back coming to meet Cyprian's forward, Cyprian moves one hand to the back of Kieran's neck. He squeezes just slightly, trying to feel him breathing.

"Mine, do you understand, Kieran? Do you understand you are mine?"

Kieran's answer is jumbled in his moans, the sound of the table shuddering, Cyprian's own strained breathing. Leaning over, he covers Kieran's body with his, chest to back, putting his mouth to Kieran's ear.

"You must know it too. Don't you feel it? When my cock is inside you. Maker, Kieran, you're mine."

This time Cyprian can make out the, "yes," between other noises.

He pulls out, flipping Kieran onto his back. Cyprian wants to see his face, now that he understands. He plunges back into the wanting body below him. He takes hold of Kieran's legs, holding them apart. Red lines from the bindings of books litter Kieran's chest, too much pressure against sharp edges of stacked pages.

"Open your eyes," Cyprian instructs. He wants to see them.

Kieran listens, his eyes green and wide. Cyprian takes Kieran's cock in his hand, trying to stroke him to completion first. He won't last long like this. Not with the way Kieran looks up at him. 

When Kieran comes it is with a shout. It's loud enough the sound barrier may not have muffled it, as if there was any question what was going on behind the magic seal. Cyprian chases after him, coming in devastating spurts inside of Kieran. It's just too much, the way Kieran reacts when he comes, the shivering, thrashing way he yields.

Cyprian kisses him before the moment can pass. Before the haze of lust is replaced by Kieran's disdain for him. Perhaps he should not have done this. But Cyprian can't will himself to regret it. Not with Kieran still beneath him.

"Cyprian." 

Kieran touches his fingers to Cyprian's cheeks. Without thinking, he turns his mouth to kiss Kieran's palm. 

"I should leave you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, just. Just the Inquisition will be dismantled. You are still free to stay here until the time comes, if you'd like. I'm sorry. To think I wouldn't see you again, even in passing. I didn't think," Cyprian babbles.

Kieran tilts his head. "You don't let me speak."

Cyprian holds his tongue. 

"What made you think I hated you?"

"Kieran, you don't come to bed. You barely speak to me. You spend your days here, in the library. Kieran, you don't kiss me."

Kieran's arms wrap around his shoulders. Soft now, he pulls out of Kieran's body, but they stay skin on skin.

"I warned you I would be different, after the Crossroads. That you may not love me anymore, once you understood who I am. You didn't ask me again. So, I assumed, knowing now what you do, that you no longer wanted me." He tugs at Cyprian's hair as he speaks.

Cyprian steps back, pulling up Kieran until he's seated on the edge of the table. Maker, he has been such an idiot. Holding Kieran's face between his palms, Cyprian looks for signs of hesitation.

"Do you still love me? Do you still want me, Kieran?"

"Of course, only now I am different. I am the one who has changed. Not you."

"You're not so very different. You feel the same." He pecks at Kieran's lips, "you taste the same."

"And I do love you, the same."

"You promised, at the Crossroads, if we made it back," Cyprian starts.

"If you ask again."

"Will you be my husband?"

Kieran smiles, "yes."

\--

They pass Vivienne in the Great Hall. She must notice how Kieran's robes are torn, how their bodies are pressed close together as they rush past, and how the reek of sex. But she says nothing, only pursing her lips together. No doubt, she has something to do with the Inquisition's dissolution. No one lost more power than her when Cyprian came of age. When he proved a stubborn brat.

Once in the Inquisitor's quarters, Cyprian asks Kieran to wait a moment. They really should shower and change, though he doesn't know how they will spend the rest of their day. Cyprian would just as soon spend it pleasuring Kieran until he is too exhausted to move. But he wishes to do this first.

Kieran must notice the utter devastation Cyprian has inflicted on the room, but he does not mention it. The floor is covered with pieces of broken garbage. Few things have been left untouched, some of the larger furniture pieces. The bed is intact but Cyprian has burnt the sheets too.

Cyprian has few things from Ostwick. He did not live there long enough to amass much of anything. His first six years, then another six months after his mother retrieved him from Kinloch just shy of his ninth birthday, that was the total time he spent in the Marches. But his aunt has sent him things over the years. Some of them she bought herself, gifts for every birthday, other things here and there, most of them new. But not this one.

He pulls the pendant from its box in the broken vanity drawer. It is not particularly attractive, not by the standards of Orlais, at least. Slightly bulky and cut from ivory, it hangs on a black leather cord. The pattern resembles that of a weave. It sits heavy in Cyprian's palm.

"This was my mother's," he doesn't show it to Kieran yet, afraid that he will deem it ugly. "She was supposed to wear it upon her engagement. But she never did. Get engaged, I mean. Well, she never wore it either. But, anyway, Cassia sent it to me a little before I turned eighteen. She said I was to give it to my wife."

Kieran looks amused, "I was unaware I was to be your wife."

Cyprian hates to admit it; he thinks now that Kieran may be insulted by the notion. He doesn't mean it like that. Except the thought of it does arouse him, Kieran as his wife. Not really, just as a role. Dressed in white and waiting to be sullied, flowers in his dark hair, his cock hard under layers of skirts.

Stepping closer, Kieran takes Cyprian's hand to look at the pendant. 

"I've seen these before, in books. It's from Rivain."

Cyprian nods, "yeah, my grandmother."

Kieran takes it from Cyprian's hands.

"The bride is meant to put it on herself." Kieran places the cord around his neck, the clasp in front so he can fasten it. "To assert that she is still her own, but she takes her husband as an addition to, not an erasure of, herself."

Cyprian's chest knots when Kieran slides the pendant around so it sits against his chest.


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen knocks but, apparently, does not wait for Cyprian to answer. Throwing open the door with a crash, he rouses Cyprian from sleep.

"What the fuck?" Cyprian sits up in the bed, carefully trying not to disturb Kieran asleep next to him, still curled in the sheets. He feels a bit guilty, having seen the bruises against Kieran's hips, thighs, and ass. But last night Kieran told him it was okay, that he likes it. He likes being marked.

Cullen's lips set into a thin line, his eyes flickering to the lump in the bed behind Cyprian.

"Council was scheduled to begin fifteen minutes ago."

Cyprian doesn't understand. "I was told by Josephine yesterday that the Inquisition has been disbanded."

Next to him, Kieran begins to stir, rolling over and opening green eyes. Cyprian touches his hair, whispering he should go back to sleep. There's nothing to worry about. Maker, Cyprian still doesn't know how, after everything he has endured, that such a beautiful person would choose to wake up in his bed. That Kieran is his and his alone.

"That does not mean our responsibilities end so abruptly," Cullen says.

"Like hell it does." Cyprian throws off the sheets from his lower body. He knows he is bruised as well, with bite marks on his neck, scratch marks on his chest and back. Cullen looks away when he is out of bed. Like Cyprian's nakedness has anything to do with him. Cyprian takes his time finding his robe, but only because it upsets Cullen.

"We must negotiate terms with several other entities that will absorb our resources. Ration out back payments to troops, determine who receives our perishable supplies." Cullen keeps his eyes averted until well after Cyprian has tied his night robe shut. 

Even in bare feet, Cyprian is an inch or two taller than Cullen is in his boots. He hopes it makes Cullen nervous.

"I honestly don't care, Commander. And I don't know why my presence is required."

"You are still Inquisitor. We are still responsible-"

Cyprian snaps back, "I have been told time and time again that I am responsible for nothing."

Behind him, Cyprian can hear Kieran getting out of bed, his feet padding against the stone floor.

"The only thing I have done for the last nine years is yield to what those around me wish. I have done what you have asked of me. And what am I left with?"

Cyprian does not miss how Cullen's eyes are not on him, they look around him. At Kieran.

Grabbing Cullen by the front of his tunic, Cyprian throws him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Cullen is heavy, probably stronger, even though he is somewhat smaller, and certainly better trained. But Cyprian does not consider any of that. All he thinks of is that he should not be looking at Kieran. He raises his fist to strike Cullen in the face, his other hand around Cullen's neck. Cullen does not flinch.

"Cyprian, don't." Kieran comes up behind him and touches his wrist. The Anchor pulses before going out. The rage doesn't leave Cyprian entirely, but he lets Cullen loose. Only then does he show any sign of distress, rubbing his throat and coughing.

Cullen glares at them both. "I will inform the others that you will not be returning to your duties."

Cyprian gnashes his teeth together. "You do that, Commander."

"He will expect us to leave," Kieran observes after Cullen goes.

Cyprian turns, putting his hands at Kieran's waist. He wears trousers, but no shirt, Cyprian's outburst distracted him from dressing. The cord hangs around his neck, the engagement pendant settled against his chest. Cyprian reaches with two fingers to stroke against the cord, all the way down to the ivory. Kieran smiles in response, trying to chase Cyprian's fingers with his lips, kissing them chastely.

"Well, if we can't stay here, where do you want to go?" Cyprian asks. And he means it, wherever Kieran wishes to go, he will take him. Though Cyprian has not seen his family for many years, he is still heir, and his family's seal is as good as currency through most of lower Thedas.

Kieran comes up on his toes to kiss the corner of Cyprian's mouth. "I've been trying to make sense of Urthemiel's memories, his desires." He presses his palms flat to Cyprian's chest. "I understand him better now than I did as a child. He's less noise, more coherence. I do not know for certain if my mother knew it would be so. Mythal--Flemeth--prepared her as a vessel but never inhabited her."

Cyprian breathes sharply as Kieran's fingers dart under the fold of his robe. "Do you not like it? Having him inside you?"

"It's not a matter of liking or not. I am him; he is me. But not entirely. He does not consume me." Kieran smiles, "not like you do, love."

"So what do you need from me?" 

"Minrathous, I need to go to Tevinter." Kieran looks unsure, like Cyprian would ever deny him anything.

"Then we go to Minrathous."

\--

It isn't that simple, to announce they are leaving and just go, though Cyprian wishes it were. With Kieran's permission, he sends a rambling letter to Dorian, though he has to address it to 'Magister Pavus.' He doesn't know for certain if Dorian will help them, but he is certain to be angry if they arrive unannounced in Minrathous without sending word ahead. It has been four years since Cyprian last saw Dorian.

He must also arrange for travel to the coast, where they will cross the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. From there, they may take a second ship to Minrathous. It would be simpler than traveling over land, unless the fighting in Seheron flares. Josephine lists off the steps he must take to secure passage, but does not offer to complete them for Cyprian. He tries to scribble down notes so he will not forget. 

As he turns to go, she wishes him luck. At the very last moment, Josephine says she is sorry. They all feel a great sense of loss. He cannot believe it is as true for the others as it is for him. For them, there is a before and an after the Inquisition. Cyprian has only this.

"Kieran?" 

When he enters the Inquisitor's quarters he does not see his friend. Kieran said he would work on packing some things, only useful ones. Mage robes, tonics, sturdy boots. Perhaps a few sentimental items, if Cyprian has any. Kieran, even after months of living at Skyhold, has not accumulated much. They will need the Eluvian, and a cart to carry it to the coast. Cyprian writes that down as well.

"Here, love," he calls from the storage room.

Inside are boxes of things Cyprian didn't even bother to open in the years he has spent at Skyhold. They must have been sitting in storage for nearly a decade. Kieran has pried one box open to examine the contents.

"I think these are your mother's things?"

Indeed. The boxes are filled with dresses and fine coats, perfumes and cosmetics. He wishes he could pretend he does not know why they are here instead of at Ostwick. His grandfather has taken steps to cut them both off like a gangrenous arm. His troublesome mother and her bastard child. Never mind that boy became Inquisitor. Maker! When he was fifteen he was formally legitimized so he could inherit. Still, his grandfather made no attempt to see him, even to write.

"We will have to leave them. My grandfather will not want them back. That is why they are here."

Kieran seals back up the crate. Cyprian can only hope that in another thousand years, some other worthy hero will come to Skyhold, and they will find the remnants of a woman who was never there.

\--

Viscount Tethras greets them in Kirkwall, offering for them stay in his home, though Cyprian independently owns property in the city. Well, Varric placed the estate in his name when he turned eighteen, as a gift. He also named Cyprian Comte. Cyprian isn't entirely sure what that means, only that Varric was excited to gift the title to him.

There is to be a dinner, but not a particularly formal one. They are only in the city for a few days. Until they can procure horses or transportation otherwise.

"So," Varric drinks from his goblet. "Finally going to see your grandfather?"

Cyprian is on his third glass of wine already when the food arrives. He feels happily buzzed with Varric's stories and the Guard Captain's reserved laughter. Her children cannot be kept in place, running about the room until they are sure to tire out. Kieran sits close at his side, allowing Cyprian to keep one hand on his thigh when it is not otherwise occupied with gesturing. 

"I'm not sure if my line of credit will hold in Tevinter. Or if I'll be able to withdraw funds there. It is easiest to go to Ostwick and take out the gold directly. My grandfather cannot legally stop me. Even if he is Bann and I am not. I looked that up. As heir I have as much right to my family's wealth as he does, so."

"So what you're saying is you're going to rob the old man blind?"

Cyprian laughs, "I do not have robes with pockets deep enough for that."

Varric thinks that quite funny as well; Guard Captain Aveline finds it less humorous. Her husband stands to tend to the little ones. The boy has started to cry.

"And look at you," Varric turns his attention to Kieran, who has been in good spirits through dinner, but quiet. "Talk about crazy stories. And boys who scare the shit out of Thedas."

Kieran squeezes Cyprian's hand on his thigh. "I'm not so very frightening, am I?" he smiles, deliberately shifting the color of his eyes from green to gold.

Varric's laughter is raucous. "Yeah, that's going to convince all those Magisters up north that you're harmless, kiddo."

Kieran turns his eyes back to green.

"Try not and enjoy Tevinter too much, boys," Varric warns as the meal winds down. "I'd rather see you two change an empire than watch it change you."

Kieran runs his finger along the rim of his wineglass. "Why stop at an empire?"

\--

Though Bann Trevelyan knows to expect them, he does not appear pleased. A man of about sixty-five, tall and lean, he stands ramrod straight at the entrance to the Trevelyan estate house. Still, his lips are set in a careful smile. He greets Cyprian as 'grandson.'

Cyprian has never seen his aunt's face, only her fine, looping handwriting. Cassia smiles without reservation. She's small, younger than he expected, and nearly as light-skinned as Cyprian, though they are both noticeably darker than the Bann. Her dark hair is straight, rather than in curls. But still, as she rushes to hug him, he sees flashes of his mother. Of how much she loved him.

"Oh, Cyprian," she has to come up on her toes and he down to her face for her to kiss him on both cheeks. "Oh, Cyprian," there are tears in her eyes. "The illustrations don't do you justice. You look so much like her."

"Introduce your friend," Cyprian's grandfather instructs, stopping Cassia's affectionate rambling about her sister. 

Cassia pulls away, releasing Cyprian and instead taking both Kieran's hands in her own. "I'm Cassia, Cyprian's aunt."

"I'm Kieran," he is as disarming and charming as he wishes to be, when he tries.

Bann Trevelyan offers his hand to Kieran. "What is your family name?"

Cyprian does not hesitate to answer for him. "Trevelyan."

That Kieran smiles in response gives Cyprian confidence enough for anything.

\--

After a tense dinner, Bann Trevelyan pulls Cyprian aside. He says they must discuss the gold Cyprian wishes to withdraw from his accounts. Cyprian is certain he only wishes to keep Kieran away from their discussion. 

Since Kieran's return to his life, others have done nothing but try and separate them. He trusts Cassia, though, and she promises to keep Kieran entertained in the gardens. He really must see them! Even with the snows coming, they are quite lovely.

Cyprian follows his grandfather to his lavish study. Everything is cast from heavy wood, leather, and brass. It smells of smoke and oil, tickling his nose. While he is offered a seat across from his grandfather, he is hesitant to take it.

"I'd rather stand," he interjects.

"Sit, Cyprian."

This is a man he hasn't known his entire life. He hasn't known his grandfather at all, only the absence left in his wake. So while Cyprian has hated him, as he has hated so many others, it is not with the intense rage produced by persistent prodding into his affairs. Perhaps staying out of his life was for the best. But Cyprian cannot help but wonder if Cassia would have loved him where others had failed, if only his grandfather had let her leave Ostwick.

Cyprian sits.

"Who is he?"

"Kieran? I told you, he is my husband." Reaching forward, Cyprian starts to play with the assorted metal contraptions on his grandfather's desk. Little metal balls that smash together, making a faint clicking noise as they hit.

"Not in the eyes of the Chantry, I assume?"

Cyprian blanches, "well, um, no I guess not. He's, we're...not. I love him, grandfather. I have loved him for a long time. I won't leave him. And there are no conditions you can place on me, I know that much."

Bann Trevelyan sighs into his hands. "It is not so bothersome if you prefer men, Cyprian. That is handled easily enough. But you should wed someone of suitable social standing. I had written to Ambassador Montilyet on the matter, to find someone appropriate for you. It would have been better to secure your match while you were still Inquisitor. But even now, you are marriageable. The dissolution of the Inquisition is agreeable politically and not on account of any scandal on your part."

Cyprian realizes, only now, that his grandfather knew that the Inquisition was to be dissolved before he did. He sits in his chair, slack jawed. "No, I won't marry someone out of politics. I'm marrying Kieran."

"Don't be ridiculous." Bann Trevelyan leans back in his chair. "He is a commoner, I take it? That is why you so readily gave my name as his? Come now, tell me his parents names and I will write to them. I can secure him a place in the household here if you would like. Is he literate?" He pulls a sheet of parchment from his desk drawer.

No! Cyprian will not treat Kieran as his mistress. He will not marry someone of his grandfather's choosing, and he is certainly not staying in Ostwick.

"We're going to Minrathous. I have only come for coin. I told you as much in my letter."

"And you will have it, once this is settled. So, his parents names? I am only trying to help you."

"He is an orphan," Cyprian blurts out. "Well, not really." He cannot stand the thought that his grandfather thinks Kieran is a commoner, when he is anything but. "His parents served with the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. He is not a commoner. His father is a Warden."

Bann Trevelyan puts down his pen. "Wardens don't have children."

Cyprian shrugs his shoulders. "That's why he's an orphan, sort of. But it doesn't matter. He is not common, and I will not keep him as some sort of pet." He shakes his head. "I am going to marry Kieran, and I don't need your blessing to do so."

"Cyprian, I must look out for our family's interests. You must understand."

Well enough he knows he doesn't need to understand. He checked and rechecked all the Marcher documents he could get his hands on to confirm that he does not need the Bann's support.

"And I must look out for myself. No one else ever has."

Tomorrow, he will retrieve the coin he needs himself.

\--

"Cyprian?" Kieran's voice sounds different. 

The lamps in their room at the Trevelyan estate have been put out. Instead, half a dozen candles light the chamber, casting shadows across the floor.

"Kieran?" Cyprian steps further into the room. 

Kieran stands before him, clad in a cream colored dress that skims the floor, layered skirts floating around his legs in soft waves. He looks different. His face is subtly changed. His already round cheeks are more flushed, his lips fuller, eyes wider. His hair falls in long, black strands past his shoulders, down his bare back. He has shape shifted.

Cyprian puts his hands on Kieran's hips, ever so slightly more curved than they were before. He runs his fingers up Kieran's body, following the dip of his waist, flaring out to his small breasts. The low neckline of the dress shows they are flesh, pale, soft. Cyprian's eyes flick back to Kieran's, the color is the same, gold in the candlelight.

"Kieran, what have you done?"

"Would your grandfather have liked me better like this?" Though his voice is changed, more feminine, it is still undeniably him. Cyprian has seen him shift before, but always into animals. Not like this. "Would you like me better, like this?" He rasps into Cyprian's ear. Taking Cyprian's hands, Kieran guides his palms over his breasts, letting the heat linger there. Cyprian runs one thumb over his nipple, it's bigger, harder than he's used to against his touch, even through the fabric.

"No, Kieran."

Kieran tilts his head to one side, a smile crossing his lips. "Are you sure? What do you like about the other body? This one would make you acceptable."

"I don't care about being acceptable." His hands are still gliding over the shifted body. He wants to touch between Kieran legs, see what he has done there. Though they are close, he can't feel evidence of Kieran's arousal. "I want you." He swallows hard, "do you prefer yourself like this?"

Cyprian is afraid of the answer to his question. He has never been interested in women. In their breasts or their cunts. But if this is what Kieran wants, he will try. Maker, he doesn't know if he can succeed.

Kieran shakes his head, his long hair brushing against his back. "It is irrelevant to me. As long as you want to fuck me. As long as you want to be mine. As long as you will call me yours. I am...disinterested in the conventions of my body."

"As long as you are beautiful?"

"Obviously, a given," Kieran drawls, sounding a bit more like himself.

Snaking his hand between Kieran's legs, he feels the mostly flat mound of his pubic bone.

Cyprian laughs nervously, "I do think I like you better with your cock. And without breasts, and just everything. I think I like men. I mean, I like you best of all. Absolutely. But, yeah, I don't think?"

Bit by bit Kieran shifts back, his body slimming and his face taking on a bit more angle. Cyprian can feel him now, rock hard against his leg. When he glances down, he can see the way Kieran's erection tents against the fabric of the dress. Okay, Maker, does he like that contrast, though.

"Do you want to help me out of this?" Kieran is wicked, utterly wicked, he knows.

Cyprian picks Kieran up by his thighs, wrapping his legs around his waist to carry him to bed. The light fabric of Kieran's dress bunches up between them. He keeps his lips attacking Kieran's, binding them together at as many points of contact as possible.

He lays Kieran out on the bed, his short-again hair fanning out around his head. The bodice of the dress puckers slightly without Kieran's little tits to fill the cups. Still, Kieran makes such a pretty picture. His bride dressed in cream, his betrothal pendant around his neck, his lips wet with Cyprian's saliva.

Kieran's legs fall off the side of the bed, his feet in white stockings under the folds of the dress. Cyprian hikes up the skirt, high enough that he can pull back Kieran's tiny silken small-clothes and put his mouth over his straining erection. He's so hard from this. Cyprian's hard too, but he can wait. 

He holds onto Kieran's slim thighs as he throats his cock, taking it as far into his wet mouth as he can without choking. Above him, Kieran's whines, gripping onto Cyprian's curly hair, pulling it until it hurts. Good, so good. Cyprian's fingers rub at the edges of Kieran's stockings, where the fabric meets skin. There's something overstimulating about the combination of textures, how the dress billows around them. There's a lewdness to it, Kieran's mockery of purity.

Kieran's cock is heavy in his mouth, and warm. Cyprian tightens his lips around the shaft, trying to coax pleasure from his body, whether or not Kieran is ready to yield. He twitches a little, bucking up off the mattress. Kieran's belly tightens and he comes in bitter spurts down Cyprian's throat. He swallows, greedily, bringing Kieran through to the end.

When they kiss this time, it's slow, unhurried. Cyprian holds his body over Kieran's, touching him with one hand. He likes the contrast of Kieran's slim, hard body and the layers of soft fabric. And maybe, he likes a little, a lot, how precious he feels under Cyprian's touch. Like a gift. 

Kieran tugs at the front of Cyprian's tunic, unfastening the clasps with nimble fingers. He opens the front so he can rake his nails down the front of Cyprian's chest.

"Are you going to fuck me?" Kieran asks, scratching over his previous markings with deeper strokes.

"Is that what you want, predator?"

Kieran nods, "yes."

Cyprian has to get out of bed to rummage through their things to find the oil. He spills it over his own cock, reaching with moistened fingers for Kieran's hole.

"Don't need fingers, just your cock. It's okay."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"You won't."

Cyprian realizes how silly it is to think Kieran would lie about that. Kieran can change his form at will, and lubrication spells are common enough among mages. He was never taught them, but that doesn't mean Kieran doesn't know.

He leaves Kieran in his dress. Bending Kieran's knees against the mattress to hold him open, Cyprian stands at the edge of the bed. He pushes Kieran's legs back and back until he is satisfied with the angle. Kieran's hole does look wet, and ready for him. Maker.

To guide his cock into Kieran's hole he has to let go of one of his legs. Kieran holds himself in place while Cyprian pushes into him inch by inch. He's just as tight as he always is, but wetter, slicker than they can manage without magic. Kieran's body engulfs him. When their hips are flush, Cyprian leans over to kiss him.

The layered skirts bloom around them like a flower as Cyprian fucks his friend. As the fabric catches at the sheets, the bodice rolls down off of Kieran's chest, exposing his pink nipples. Cyprian folds his body again to bite at them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Cyprian barks as they race towards the edge. "I love you, Kieran, Kieran, I love you."

"I love you," Kieran echoes back.

_I'll do anything._


End file.
